A Cage Of Butterflies
by Anne Whynn
Summary: In the process of being rewritten.
1. Prologue: Do You Believe in Destiny?

**A Cage of Butterflies**

_By Anne Whynn_

A District 9 Fanfiction

### Post movie, spoiler alert for the movie. _Intended to be read after the movie has been seen_. ###

### Set three months after the departure of Christopher and the relocation of the non-humans to District 10 ###

~*~

**Prologue:**

Do You Believe in Destiny?

~*~

There are things in this world that we take for granted. Things that we overlook in their mastery because they are simply expected, because their existence is something that is so assured, the marvel of them is lost.

Take, for instance, the simple gift of life. A living body, an organism. Something that just _is_ that might not be truly examined. A heart beat. Lungs drew in air. A motion was enacted without ever really being thought about.

But the true complexity of life and the sheer impossibility of its creation are often overlooked.

Out of innumerable amounts, a specific number of atoms are brought together, twining with one another to form a specific chain of DNA, which was expressed in the form of life. Suspended on the finite strands of fate that brought them all together to construct the living tissue of a form that would never, ever be matched by artifice, no matter how far technology advanced.

Behind eyes, organs for sight to perceive the world uniquely for each individual, were thoughts, electrochemical impulses that came together to form what was known as a consciousness. Each consciousness was singular, restricted to the individual. One consciousness matched to each body and not any other. A plethora of unimaginably complicated processes that some would say surpassed simple biology and transcended into a metaphysical realm of existence which housed the ineffable, untouchable, unfathomable thing that was a soul.

The marvel of the soul was something that many would contemplate, but the marvel of the body that housed it sometimes escaped them. Not the complexities of its make up, but the sheer impossibility of its existence. The impossibility of anything existing at all, be it because of the atoms that came together to form its shape, or the events that led up to the single moment. People focus on the events that are unlikely as being impossible, but every single event is equally impossible. For one, single event, one single moment to exist, it had to face insurmountable odds.

A single being out of all the odds, existing in a single moment, out of all the odds. Combined, the impossibility of it would simply be overwhelming.

Yet exist they did, both being and moment. They had climbed over the odds and pushed them aside to emerge, bloody and beaten, in that one moment. Out of all others. Out of all other possible locations, and times, and people, it was they who stood there on the cusp of something that might never have come about at all. Of all the strings chosen for the tapestry of fate, it was theirs, it was that one, and they were there to witness it.

Perhaps, in order to better understand such a concept, it could be simplified to the trail of blood flowing down the arm of a human woman, a single droplet crawling along and leaving behind a trail of crimson. It moved its snaking path along the invisible road of her skin, before it hovered on the tip of her lax fingers, shivering with each indiscernible motion of her arm. Minute movements that shuddered across its expanse like earthquakes, threatening to destabilize it at any given moment. Something so insignificant to her that could alter the existence of the droplet irrevocably.

Then, finally, it released its hold and plunged into oblivion, taking the dive between her finger and the ground with the grace of a bird plummeting from the air in a fall from which it would not rise. A final, defiant moment to declare that, though its life was brief, it had indeed existed. A single droplet that was, in itself, a miracle.

Millions of cells, trillions of atoms, all of them which could have been elsewhere, elsewhere in her body, elsewhere in another's body, could not be organic tissue at all. Instead, they were contained in a single drop. That one particular drop, that had taken one particular path and hovered on that one particular finger, and fell at that one particular moment.

Tears, dreams, hope and despair. All of it reflected on the light that bounced away from the droplet as gravity dragged it closer, hungrily.

When it touched the ground, it bent, warped, twisted dramatically as, once again, it tenaciously clung to its form, clung to its existence. Then it exploded outwards in a brilliant display of red, swirling through the air like dancers, defiant to the last moment in their beauty

An occurrence that could be overlooked like countless others in its lack of meaning, but if one sat to think about it, it was as miraculous as the soul. Components, going back endlessly through the stream of time, that could have ended up anywhere, that could have become anyone, or anything, were there in that moment. Not anywhere else. A person, a single spot, a single time.

The sheer impossibility of the odds itself might not be immediately apparent, but if only one were to look, they would see that, against all odds, that moment had happened. The droplet had formed. It had fallen. It had exploded and faded from existence.

They were there. No one else. Nothing else. They had become themselves, and their parents had become who they were, and their ancestors had become what they had been. They were not anywhere else. They had not lived anything else.

A single possibility where the possibilities had been endless.

One might say it was a miracle, a miracle in every single portion of a thing.

But maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was not simply chance. Maybe it wasn't overcoming impossible odds.

Maybe... it was…

… Destiny.


	2. Ch 1: Welcome to District 10

**A Cage of Butterflies**

By Anne Whynn

~*~

**Chapter One:**

Welcome to District 10

~*~

_**Africa**_

Distended bellies.

Wide eyes full of suffering.

Flyblown mouths.

Limbs like leather covered sticks.

The young doctor had never felt more appreciative or more ashamed of her health when she lifted a child so light, she could have held him in one hand. Setting him in a sling, she sighed softly as she scratched down his weight. A full kilo lighter than the week before. She didn't know where he was losing the weight, but he was losing it.

He wasn't responding to the treatment.

Leaning over him, she brushed her fingers over his cheek, cupping his face in her hand, "Hey, little man. C'mon. You got work with me on this, yeah?"

The boy stared at her blankly, mouth agape, mind lost to starvation and sickness. He didn't even comprehend the fact that he was dying beyond his own suffering. Chelsea's throat tightened as the scooped him up in her arms, crying inside at his weightlessness. Returning him to the carer's arms, she watched the woman carry him away, his blank eyes looking at her from over the woman's shoulder.

A hand clapped on her back and Chelsea's own tired eyes glanced at the dark-skinned doctor as he walked past, "You do your best, Chels. Don't beat yourself up about it."

She just shook her head, exhaling sharply, "Yeah. Just… yeah." Realistically she knew she couldn't do any more than she was already doing, but that didn't alleviate the guilt. The overwhelming, oppressive guilt every time a child stopped breathing, every time they plunged another cross into the ground in the little plot behind the dilapidated clinic.

The man that wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her roughly was a black, England-born doctor who had returned to his grandfather's homeland to help his people. He had a kind face that was weathered by a decade of watching those very events pass by his eyes over and over.

She wondered if she had that many lines in her face after only three years.

"Go take a walk," said Morris quietly.

"No, I really should-"

"Go," he pushed her to the door. "Take a walk, clear your head. The clinic coped fine before you got here, and we'll be fine for a fifteen minute walk."

Grimacing, Chelsea pulled off her surgical gloves, tucking them into her belt. The first two months of her tour in Africa she had _hated_ the thought of reusing surgical gloves, but they were simply a commodity that could not be afforded.

Amazing what you took for granted in the big smoke. Taking a water bottle from one of the children that helped around the clinic, she rubbed his head and waved the bottle at Morris, stepping out into the hot African sun. Instantly she felt the direct light on her exposed skin, grimacing faintly and thanking her heritage that ensured she didn't burn easily. As it was, she was a deep shade of bronze from all of her exposure, the kind that women big bucks for, and still couldn't achieve.

Grunting, she uncapped the bottle and upended it, sipping lightly from the contents, so as to better save the amount in the plastic container. She had gotten used to warm water quickly, because she'd still get clean water. Water free of disease and faeces and filth. She could tolerate the warmth.

A flash of reflected light caught her attention and she turned her head, lowering the bottle as she did. Shielding her eyes, she squinted against the evening sun, before dropping her sunglasses over her face.

A jeep. A nice jeep. Too nice to be one of theirs.

Turning, she called back into the clinic, "Morris. We expecting any deliveries? Personnel?"

Morris looked up from the elderly woman he was bandaging, her skin torn from heat exposure and simply moving, "Uh… no? Why?"

"Hm. Someone's here. Don't worry, I'll check it."

As she walked away, Morris called out, "Not expecting but it's welcome! Kidnap them if you can!"

Chuckling, Chelsea capped her water and tucked it into the pocket of her kahki shorts. Children, healthy children drawn back from the brink of death, danced around her legs, tapping sticks on the ground and shouting in their unique language that was a bastardization of English, French and strange sounds. Patting the air as she approached the jeep, she told them to wait there, crossing the rest of the distance to where it had come to a stop.

The doors opened and two men stepped out, looking nice and hot in their suits.

"Good evening!" called the one from the passenger side, tugging at his collar. He gave the barest of hesitations when he saw her up close, and she commended that. Barely. His blonde hair was slicked to his head and he had some sort of a sophisticated African accent that came from education in the southern cities. European influence without going to Europe. "We're looking for…" He moved his arm down and she saw he was holding a folder. A page lifted, then he looked up again, "Doctor Chelsea Grant?"

"You're lookin' at her." Call her paranoid, but Chelsea disliked suits. Especially suits in the desert. They didn't belong. The clothes or the wearers. Out in the heat, only sensibility endured.

Sensibility and starvation.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor Grant." The man extended his hand and she shook it. The limp, smooth hand of a pencil pusher as opposed to her firm, callused grip. "My name is Yves Sykes. I'm from the MNU."

Instantly Chelsea's brows winged to her forehead and she shifted her weight to her back foot, arms folding over her chest, "MNU? Multi-National United?" At his nod, she grimaced and looked behind him, a fake smile coming across her face. "Long way from your offices, Mr Sykes." She returned her gaze to him, safely behind her sunglasses. "What does the MNU want with _me_?"

Sikes cleared his throat, pushing back his sweaty blonde hair, "Twenty six months ago you submitted an application to the MNU to be stationed inside District 9 in Johannesburg, with a specific request to be allowed to treat the non-human residents."

Chelsea felt her muscles coiling in her back slowly and she commended herself on not curling her lip in distaste. Chelsea might have been in the sticks, but she still heard the news, especially the African news. She knew well the situation involving District 9 that had exposed their monstrous experiments on the 'Prawns'.

"I do seem to recall applying, yeah." She also recalled having the proverbial door slammed in her face so hard she felt it in her teeth. The MNU hadn't just rejected her proposal, they had outed her as a Prawn sympathiser to various doctoring circles.

Chelsea hadn't really cared, since she didn't want to work in a hospital, but her family had.

Her father had taken MNU to court for their breach of confidentiality and defamation. And won. MNU had always been _very_ nice to her after that. But she had always been under the impression that they wanted her to disappear into the wastelands of Africa and never come back.

Which was the main source of her incredulity and hostility. Why had they sought her out?

When Sykes answered her prompt, his words made her whole world come to a grinding halt.

"We were wondering if the offer still stood."

~*~

"Can you believe them?!"

Morris chewed on his food as Chelsea raged across the small building they used as a rec centre, looking both amused and a little intimidated by the force of Chelsea's fury. But no one new Chelsea long without realizing the depths of the woman's emotional volatility.

"You know what this is, don't you? This is MNU's attempt to appear non-human friendly after that fucking fiasco that exposed their… sick, twisted chamber of horrors." She kicked an empty water bottle across the tent, sending it skittering out into the night. "Assholes! And to think. They're a profit company asking for _volunteers_. The _nerve_."

"You want to be paid? Is that what this is about?" He looked amused.

"Wh… no! Of course not!" Chelsea whirled on Morris, scowling furiously. "That's not it at all. I'm just… outraged!"

"Why?" Morris chewed on his food slowly, watching the younger woman. "You wanted to treat the non-humans of District 9 over two years ago, before you and I ever met. You hate the way they're treated. You were willing to go into an area populated by gangs and lowlifes to help them. What's changed?"

"Well… nothing! But-"

"Who cares what the MNU's reasoning is? It's getting you into there, isn't it?"

Chelsea's rage frizzled out in the face of calm rationale, as it always did. Turning away, she put one hand on her hip and buried the other in her hair, which hung loose now the African air had cooled. "I know. I know. It just… irks me that this is all because of a desperate stunt on behalf of MNU's public image."

"Who cares? You shouldn't. Forget MNU and do your job. They're a means to an end, that's all."

Chelsea made a sound of disgust, "I can't leave here." She gestured out the tent entrance, at the light of the fires of the village nearby. "I can't just up and leave."

"You've been here six months. By rights you should rotate out anyway." Morris held up a folder, "Besides. I already have your replacement right here." He set it down on his desk and ate another mouthful of stew.

"Replacement?"

He chewed, swallowed and held up a hand, "Easy, tiger. It's not like that and you know it. You're a brilliant doctor, and a talented surgeon, but your passion lies in making a difference. To be honest, it doesn't matter how many starving children you save, so many more are going to die." Morris reached out and put his hand over hers when she leant on the table, about to snap at him. "You've got more power than you think, Chelsea, and the fire to back it up. The Prawns are violent, dangerous, feared and hated. But you want to go in there on your little white horse and save them. Not many people can do that. Not many people want to."

He sat back slowly, staring at her hard, "Anyone can treat starving children. Anyone can sit here and watch them die. Anyone can do the job you're doing here. But it takes a special kind of person to do what you really want to do. You didn't learn their language for fun, after all."

Chelsea grimaced, and then sighed, nodding. "Yeah…" She didn't agree with him on the part of making changes, but she agreed that going to District 9 had been her dream job. The danger hadn't fazed her. The threat of death and even being devoured by the starving Prawns hadn't scared her. She wanted to help them.

She wanted to save them.

Granted it was a little patronizing to think she had to 'save them', but what else could she describe it?

"Don't feel bad about the children. Don't feel bad that you can't tend everyone. Someone will come and do your job here, but who's gonna fill your shoes in District 10?"

Chelsea turned and looked away from Morris, unable to meet his gaze. The man was freakishly perceptive for a doctoring nomad in a tiny mud hut clinic in the middle of the African desert.

"Go, Chelsea."

And so she went.

~*~

_**District 10**_

_**Five days later**_

"Is this the final doctor?"

"Would say so."

"Seen her file?"

"We can see each other's files?"

"Not really."

"… Have you seen her file?"

"Yep."

"Sneaky bastard."

"Was my job."

The two men stood on a slight rise within the walls of District 10. Well within its walls, so the superior power the Prawns had in their legs couldn't propel them clear over the perimeter fence. Behind them, workers milled about, erecting tents and unloading equipment from the jeeps.

Despite the fact that their accommodations had been set up a few days prior to their arrival, much of the doctors' equipment and personal belongings, as well as the medical supplies, had arrived with them on that day. Most of their entourage had rolled through the gates in the wee hours of the morning, when the Prawns were sluggish from sleep, and had gotten set up before many of them knew what was happening. But now it was late afternoon and there was a sizeable crowd of Prawns of all sizes – and presumably ages – watching the chaos behind the line of white MNU vehicles and armed men.

Somehow, goodwill endeavours seemed muted when they were accompanied by weaponry.

They had a total of twelve doctors and surgeons, accompanied by a team of nine nurses and medical technicians. Their equipment was basic, but they had tried to prepare for almost any eventuality. Any major requirements, they had been promised, were but a SatPhone call away and a three hour drive.

But none of the doctors put much stock in MNU's promises.

The final jeep, flanked by two white MNU trucks, rolled through the gate, which slammed shut behind them. One of the watching men slapped the other on the chest and they jogged down the hill to meet it.

"So, since you've read her file, what can you tell me about her?"

"She's… had an interesting past."

"Compared to you?"

"Huh?"

"Compared to you, has she had an interesting past?"

"Yeah. I guess. For a civilian."

"Well damn. Aren't I just boring?"

Both men were white, but one was a pale redhead and rather gangly in the limb, already burning from exposure to the sun. He stood almost a full head taller than his companion, who had a military buzz cut, a few days of stubble and was built like a linebacker. Whilst the taller man wore shorts, sneakers and a shirt, his friend wore combat fatigues of a pale camouflage pattern. His shoulder was emblazoned with the American flag and his companion's accent was faintly Scottish, but had been exposed to America long enough for it to be phased out almost entirely.

The jeep slid to a stop, kicking up dust, in a gap between two jeeps, passenger door turned towards the protection of the encampment. After a moment, the door opened and two tan hiking boots hit the ground as the occupant jumped out. Slender fingers grasped the door, slamming it closed, and the other hand slung a backpack over one shoulder.

"… Damn."

She was tall, but not scarily so, with a naturally sun-kissed body that would come from a long time of exposure to the sun, the kind of exposure that would not do her well with ten more years of it. From what they could she, she was a woman that ate well and worked hard, accentuated by the fact that she had the toned form of a woman that did daily labour.

Her long honey-gold hair – paled from sun exposure as her skin was darkened – was pulled back in a messy ponytail, but wispy locks were left to curl around her face and blow in the slight breeze that kicked up every now and again. Around her throat hung a slender silver chain, the end vanishing under her white singlet top, framed by the open, pale pink shirt she wore over it. Her eyes were hidden by reflective sunglasses, not that she gave them much of a chance to see her face, anyway. The moment she was out of the jeep, she stepped to the front, looking at the Prawns from across the hood. She seemed mesmerized by them, her head moving minutely as she examined each one individually.

"Chelsea Grant?"

She stiffened, and then turned towards the two men as they approached her. It was only then that they saw the scars. From a distance they didn't stand out as much against her tawny skin, hair-thin from years of healing, but they were there and they were numerous. Mostly they seemed restricted to her left side, irregular lines on the outer side of her calf and thigh, a long one running up her left forearm, curling over the back of it. A faint scar emerged from under the sunglasses on her face, crossing her forehead and bisected by another, making a lopsided crucifix.

The stocky man, the one who had read her file, barely hesitated, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Graham Rhodes."

She hesitated, and then reached out to shake his hand. Her grip was firm, her palm callused. The inside of her wrist bore the marks of someone who had been quite serious about bleeding out and not waking up. To her credit, she didn't appear ashamed of any of the marks on her body. "Nice to meet you." Her accent was distinctly Australian. "Are you… a soldier?"

"Corporal in the US Army, ma'am," he saluted her lazily. "Field Medic."

Her brows winged up over her sunglasses and she gave him a wry smile and a slight laugh, "How did they rope you in here?"

"Was approached by the MNU a couple of weeks back. Apparently me and a couple of others are America's participation in this 'goodwill' thing." Chelsea's face closed down and he flung up his hands, "Whoa. I'm all for this, trust me. After hearing what had happened to these guys, I wanted to help. Eager for it. My scepticism is on behalf of MNU."

She smiled again, "I can understand that,"

He gestured at the man behind him. "This is Callum MacIntyre."

"Nice to meet ye." Callum's accent thickened with his obvious physical attraction to the woman, shaking her hand happily. "Nothing special about me. Just a surgeon who applied to MNU. What about you?"

"Applied to MNU, too. Two years ago. Took their sweet time in accepting." Chelsea pushed up her sunglasses, resting them on her head. The motion not only revealed that the scar on her forehead didn't touch her eye, but curved away and mangled her eyebrow instead, but also that she had heterochromia, with her left eye being dark green, the right a stormy blue-grey.

"Eh, no shit!" laughed Callum once he had realized he was staring at her. "What have you been doing between now and then?"

"Doctors Without Borders," she said. "Started in Africa, haven't stopped."

"For two years?!"

"Three," Chelsea grinned at their reactions. When nothing further was said, she turned her head and stared at the Prawns once more. She'd only ever seen them on television, the few times she had access to one. Seeing them up close was… actually intimidating. Even from a distance she could comprehend the height difference between humans and Prawns, and from what she knew the difference in physical strength wasn't anything to laugh at, either.

They moved with an inhuman jerkiness that was distinctly insect-like. Or even bird-like. Though they seemed to be predominantly bipedal, they would utilize their hands for certain manoeuvring.

One of the smaller Prawns moved cautiously closer and her eyes dropped to him. His antennae waved curiously, eyes widening when he saw her staring at him. His arms curled into his chest in a very insect like manner, head cocking to the side.

Then an MNU soldier appeared, chasing him away into the line of Prawns, which shifted with agitation.

Chelsea stiffened, starting forward, but something grabbed her arm, stopping her. Turning, she expected it to be Graham or Callum, but it was a wiry woman in her late forties, early fifties. She had on a pair of large glasses attached to a beaded chain around her throat and kindly, grandmother-like green eyes. The eyes that always smiled, no matter what.

Even now, with disappointment and sadness glittering in them, there was still a smile there, somewhere. She looked past Chelsea, watching the soldier return to the others, before looking at Chelsea.

"Don't worry about it, dear. They're always like this, and they'll be gone by tomorrow, anyway."

"Gone?" she echoed quietly.

"We're armed," offered Graham. "And some will be sticking around, but the majority of them will head back to Johannesburg. There's also an encampment beyond the walls, but again, most of them will be gone."

"You were not informed of this?" The woman's voice was very English. Highbrow without being patronizing.

"MNU isn't known for its conscientiousness," muttered Chelsea in a flat tone, glancing at the Prawns. She heard they ate humans if they got hungry enough. Hopefully that wouldn't be the case…

Even though they were considered sentient beings, starvation and anger could drive anything to pure savagery. She wouldn't blame them one bit.

She didn't believe the MNU hype about them being some sort of spawn of the devil incarnation of evil, but aggressive and powerful creatures, no matter what kind, demanded the caution due to their capabilities. It wasn't cowardice to be afraid of something that could hurt you.

It was survival.

Much like watching a pride of lions saunter past an encampment with only sticks and mud separating them from you. You know if they wanted in, they were getting in. If they wanted you, they were getting you.

Their majesty was only increased by their danger.

Respect and fear was a healthy thing for those that wanted to stay alive in Africa.

The woman made a sound of discontent, "I'm sorry. It _is_ dangerous here. If you don't-"

Chelsea cut her off with a shake of her head, "I applied when they were in District 9, which is a sight more dangerous than here. And I've dealt with lions and hyenas and fences made of sticks. I'll be alright." She shrugged faintly, "I'd rather not shoot at them, though. Something tells me they've had enough of that…"

"Indeed. I'm Meghan Hall."

The name struck a chord in Chelsea and her eyes widened with respect as she shook the older woman's hand. Meghan Hall was a very loud activist for the rights of the Prawns, making a reputation for herself, often getting into legal trouble with MNU when it came to her… enthusiasm.

Chelsea was less surprised that MNU had asked her to be on board if Meghan was also on the team.

"You're participating in this?"

Meghan made a sound of irritation, "They really told you nothing, didn't they. I've been pushing for this for seven years. It just took the exposure of their monstrous experiments for them to consider it."

"Tell me about it."

Meghan turned and looked at Graham and Callum, who were silently watching the exchange, "Make yourselves useful and unload Doctor Grant's things."

"Chelsea, please," her voice was strained. Ms. Grant made her feel like a third grade English teacher and Doctor Grant made her feel like she should be a fifty something balding conservative with a pot belly. No offence to all the Doctor Grants out there, of course.

"Make yourselves useful and unload Chelsea's things. Go!"

Graham snapped a salute as Callum hopped to the task with all the eagerness of a scolded schoolboy. As they unloaded her bags full of her meagre possessions, Chelsea shouldered her pack a little better and Meghan patted her arm.

"Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone else. Let's hope that things pan out as smoothly as I intend them."

Chelsea laughed bitterly, "Something tells me that's the last thing we should expect."

"Yes. Well. Welcome to District 10."

~*~

* * *

_Thank you for taking the time to read chapter one of _A Cage of Butterflies_. It has been edited and snipped and should read better now._

_This fiction is meant to be a slow-paced fiction about building relations between the Outlanders and humans, with Chelsea being the central character. It will be smattered with moments of action and angst. Well. Lots of angst._

_Chapters are works in progress and prone to editing, cropping and revising at any time. I shall try to keep them at a minimum._

_If you liked the fiction, please review. They keep me going when the nights are long and inspiration is stubborn._

_Thank you all_

_Anne_


	3. Ch 2: First Contact

_**Re-write notice**__: Chelsea is now in possession of a silver necklace. The only significant change. I accidentally forgot to mention it in the previous chapter. It has been corrected, although its mention could easily be overlooked. Other re-writes are small errors and re-wording for better flow._

_**Please note that I place all authors' notes and review responses at the end of each chapter.**_

_**Warning:**__ The profanity starts in this chapter, and it will only get worse._

~*~

* * *

_First Contact_

_~*~_

When the white vans came to District 9, they died.

It didn't matter why they had come. It didn't matter what they had said they had intended to do. It was always the same. Their white van disgorged the heavily armed men and hateful MNU agents like a diseased animal spilled forth rot and filth.

The white vans always brought death with them. A reminder of their oppression, of their sheer insignificance in the eyes of humans, humans who promised to help them. Promised to care for them. Promises they made and never kept.

Like the promise that District 10 would be better. That it would be nicer for them to live in, that they would be more comfortable.

They always lied.

MNU always lied.

The humans always lied.

Like these new ones. The ones that came and set up near the western perimeter. Doctors, they claimed they were. They wanted to help.

Lies.

The white vans brought death. Always. Didn't matter what they said. Didn't matter what they claimed.

It was only a matter of time…

.

…

~*~

…

.

"Ever wonder about irony? You know, in the purest sense of the word? I mean, the dictionary defines irony as a desirable circumstance that comes after the circumstance is desirable. Like rain that comes the day after your flowers die. Or something like that. But wouldn't this be irony too? A reversal of situations? I mean, we're on Earth, but we're being treated like aliens. Or, you know, like animals in a zoo. Yeah, that's what I feel like. Humans in an alien zoo."

Chelsea and Graham stopped hauling on their respective ropes, turning to look at each other. Sweat soaked their bodies as they wrapped the long lengths around their gloves, bracing their feet before turning to look at Callum.

"What?" panted Chelsea finally, eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses.

They were in the process of erecting Chelsea's personal tent, which was about the size of a college dorm room. Maybe smaller. The whole thing, however, was formed from a single piece of thick canvas that was being supported by metal rods and pegs being hammered into the ground by medical techs and male nurses.

"A little higher!"

Chelsea and Graham obediently hauled the rope another few feet, grunting with the exertion. Since the whole tent was simply one large canvas drape, it was extremely heavy. On the opposite side were two more men, MNU security officers, who were helping them in erecting Chelsea's new home.

Since the doctors were expected to keep strange hours with their unconventional patients, each doctor was given an individual tent, in two rows of six. Chelsea's was the last on her row, closest to the nearest Prawn dwellings, even though there were more tents between the doctors and the aliens.

Despite the MNU's claims that the facilities would be ready before they arrived, the Doctors themselves still had a lot of work to do before they could even sleep. According to MNU, 'ready' meant 'everything would be there'. Which it wasn't.

Typical MNU promises.

Chelsea had gone on for almost an hour muttering unintelligibly and had dissolved into a cursing hellcat whenever an MNU security officer approached her. They were finding out quickly that the scarred Australian had a vile temper, which Graham had already learned to steer quite clear of in less than six hours of meeting her.

She had been able to vent in the physical act of helping to set up the camp, and had been very helpful in intimidating the MNU security officers into helping. The men were armed with automatic rifles and shotguns, and they had been cowed by the five nine Amazonian goddess completely, scampering to do her bidding with their tails tucked between their legs.

After years in the sweltering African deserts, and running in full combat gear in Iraq, the 26 degrees Celsius that District 10 was that day was actually quite cool for her and Graham both. The same with all the others used to hotter climates.

Callum was not so fortunate.

Lacking in the physical strength department, he volunteered to move plastic tubs of surgical equipment. Or, rather, Meghan had stared at him until he had found something useful to do. But after only an hour of moving the equipment, he was sweating a river, and Chelsea and Graham were only just starting to wipe their brows aver swinging sledgehammers and hauling rope.

The man had obviously never experienced hardship like being deployed to Iraq or joining Doctors Without Borders. Chelsea wondered if he had any idea what he was getting into. She wondered if he had even left Scotland before now.

As he spoke, he was standing near them, holding a box full of bedding that would go into Chelsea's tent. He was staring out over at the white tents that were the Prawns homes. In the few months since their relocation, they had somehow amassed more garbage to scrounge from, and many of the tents were decorated and reinforced with sheet metal and cardboard with surprising ingenuity.

It was still nothing like District 9, however, and Chelsea couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

As the hours had worn on, many of the watching Prawns had returned to scrounging for meagre items, finding what food they could. The novelty of their arrival, it seemed, had worn off.

But every now and again larger, more aggressive Prawns would be seen darting between the nearest buildings, watching them and conversing quietly. If a large group of them gathered, the MNU security officers would disperse it with thrown rocks and aimed guns, which made Chelsea bristle.

Graham had said it was precautionary. It ensured they couldn't do anything dangerous in large numbers. When Chelsea had objected, he also said it meant they didn't get hurt if they did get the courage to try something.

Mob mentality and whatnot.

The soldier in question grunted as he shifted his stance, leaning back on the rope, "Hey Callum?"

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

Obligingly the Scottish surgeon wandered over, and in a lightning fast movement, Graham freed one hand and smacked him on the back of the head.

"Ow! Hey! What the hell?!"

"Get to work you, useless Scott!"

"What work?! I can't go in until its ready!"

The call came that the tent was ready, and Chelsea and Graham happily released their ropes, sagging.

"Now I can get to work." Callum dodged the second swipe from the American and darted into the tent, laughing.

Chelsea flexed her fingers to work the blood back into them, stripping off the heavy gloves. Pressing her hand into her back, she rocked her torso from side to side, feeling vertebrae crack along her spine. "Ouh…"

Graham jerked his thumb at the one remaining tent to haul, "We got this one. You go get your things and lie down."

It was seven pm and the sky was growing dark. That time of year, the sun wouldn't disappear entirely until about eight pm, but the air was already cooling down. Rubbing her neck, Chelsea grinned at him.

"I know you think you're being macho and sparing the girl from manual labour, but I'm not egotistical enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. Enjoy your hauling."

Graham chuckled and slapped her on the shoulder as he walked towards the tent, "Go get your crap."

Chelsea's things were in the jeep she had arrived in, which was quite a walk away from the tents. Tossing her gloves down, she waved to show she would do just that, turning and walking off between the bustle of the final stages of the set up. True to their cause, the first things that had been prepared were the surgical tents and medical examination tents. As Chelsea walked through the camp, it reminded her of an episode of M*A*S*H, except there was no wise-cracking Hawkeye or snarky Hotlips and no well-meaning Koreans.

Instead there was Callum, Graham, Chelsea and the Prawns.

As she thought about them, her eyes tracked to the tents, watching Prawns mill about, kicking empty bottles and tossing aside useless trash. One of them tried sneaking to the line of MNU vehicles again, reaching for a tyre, but before it could get there, a security agent appeared and tried kicking it. The Prawn leaped back in time, scrambling into the tents as fast as it could go, falling halfway there and crawling the rest of the way.

Feeling disgust curl in her gut at how depraved her fellow human could be, Chelsea shook her head and walked the rest of the way to the jeep. Opening the back door, she pulled out her pack and slung it on her back, her larger duffel bag hitting the ground after it. Sliding out, she slung her laptop bag onto her shoulder, a final bag in her hands. Dropping to the ground, she closed the door to the jeep, turned and stopped dead.

Less than four feet behind her was a Prawn.

Eyes wide, she realized that whilst she was in the jeep it had come up behind her, using the growing dark and the activity to move undetected. The air slipped from Chelsea's lungs as she beheld the majesty that was the alien creature in the peaceful moment that passed between them, the air coiling and pregnant with tension, animosity, suspicion and apprehension.

It was near to or even over eight feet tall and broad in shoulder, which she had no idea as to whether or not it was normal for a Prawn or not. But by her reckoning, the Prawn before her was a brute of a creature. Its antennae were long and twitching spasmodically before it, its face tendrils moving soundlessly, almost like a nervous twitch, putting it in constant motion even though it was standing still. Its eyes were narrowed with aggression, its fingers, which she knew were very strong, clenching and unclenching with what might be suppressed aggression.

That did not serve to put her at ease at all.

Slowly she lowered her bags to the ground, holding out her hands to either side. Its head moved with very insect-like, or even bird-like motions, watching her movements before returning its eyes to her face.

"Hello…" she said inanely. She knew that most Prawns had a comprehension of the English language. It had been enforced by the MNU. "My name is Chelsea Grant. I'm a doctor here. You've heard why we're here, right?"

Its antennae pulled back, almost like a cat laying its ears flat, and it narrowed its eyes, stepping closer. Chelsea didn't realize she'd leant back until she felt the jeep pressed against her spine.

"**MNU lies.**"

At least that what she thought he said. Her Prawn was… rusty, it seemed. Either he said 'MNU lies', or it was talking about a hat of worms. Which was almost the same thing, she supposed.

"Uh… well yeah, they do. But not about this. We're not with MNU. Well, I'm not."

The Prawn tilted its head and said something she didn't quite understand. Obviously it expected her to, because it repeated the sounds. Before she could even begin to decipher what it was saying, there was a shout and both of them turned sharply towards it. But only the Prawn caught the butt of the shotgun to the face, dropping it to the ground.

"Get away from her, you fucking Prawn!"

"Whoa! _Whoa_! Hey! Stop!" Chelsea tried to step forward, but a hand shoved against her chest and sent her sprawling against the jeep. Stumbling to keep her footing, Chelsea let out a horrified sound as the MNU security officer snapped out a baton.

"NO!"

She shoved to her feet, a stumble costing her a precious few seconds, which resulted in more blows falling on the Prawn as the MNU security officer set to beating it viciously with the metal rod, swearing and hurling abuse at the creature. Surprisingly, it simply curled up and took the abuse, trying to shield its face from the blows, which was where the officer concentrated them. Very contradictory to the powerful creature it had been moments before.

"Stop! Stop!" Chelsea was screaming no as she came up behind him, grabbing his arm. "Don't hurt him!"

"Fuck off, Prawn lover!" spat the officer. "I need to teach this Prawn a fucking lesson. I'm _protecting_ you!" He turned on the Prawn and let loose another vicious blow.

"He wasn't threatening me! Stop! Oh, my God, stop!" Chelsea grabbed his wrist, tensing her arm to halt the next blow.

"Bitch!"

Chelsea didn't know what happened, exactly, but the next moment her head snapped back and she was in the dirt as well, her vision tilting to the left. "Uhn…"

"You _son of a bitch_."

Graham smashed into the officer in a full-body flying tackle, having come at a dead run the moment he heard Chelsea scream. He had rounded the trucks just in time to see the officer haul back and punch Chelsea with everything he could muster, dropping her like a stone. Both of them went sprawling in the dirt, Graham pinning the larger man down and doubling a massive fist, the muscles in his arm bunching.

"You do _not_ hit women!" Graham punched the man twice in the face, breaking his nose in the second blow. "How do you like it, cocksucker. Huh? How do _you_ like it!?"

Three MNU officers were needed to haul Graham off their comrade and still he fought them, itching to beat the fallen officer senseless.

"You don't ever touch her again. You hear me!? You touch her again and I'll _feed you your cock through a straw_!"

Whilst they were distracted with holding the corpsman, Chelsea had moved immediately to shield the cringing Prawn from more MNU officers, who were aiming their guns at him.

"Ma'am, move."

"No! No!" Blood trickled down her face as she held out her hands, warding them off. "He didn't hurt me. It wasn't his fault. Please…"

"Ma'am…"

"It's alright. It is. Graham. Graham!" She finally got through to the enraged American. "Easy. I'm alright."

"_He hit you._" The violence in his voice clearly conveyed that the wounded MNU soldier needed more disciplinary action.

"I noticed. But I'm fine. Really." Settling herself on her knees, she turned to the Prawn, reaching out to him. "Hey. Hey there." Blood glistened on its head and forearms from where it had been hit, and she clenched her teeth against another wave of anger. Swallowing it, she touched its shoulder. "Are you a-"

A mistake.

An alien hand wrapped around her throat and, in a dizzying move, Chelsea was hauled from the ground, the massive Prawn shielding itself with her. Instantly she threw both hands out, more than a little worried when half a dozen guns were aimed at her.

"Put down your guns. _Now_."

The MNU officers hesitated at Meghan's commanding voice as she appeared between the trucks, flanked by the rest of the surgeons and techs.

"_**She said put your weapons down**_!"

Graham, it seemed, could double as a drill sergeant, because every one of the MNU officers dropped their weapons with his roar, pointing them at the ground.

Chelsea took a step back as the Prawn did, realizing it was trying to get back to the tents. Twisting as best she could, she glanced over her shoulder, one eye closing as blood dripped into it.

"Go." When it blinked at her, she gestured at the tents. "Go, go. I won't let them shoot you." When it hesitated again, she whispered, "I promise. I'm not MNU. I keep my promises."

Amazingly expressive eyes stared back at her, confusion and suspicion warring on its alien face, such human emotions to easily recognizable. Then, slowly, it released her throat. Not moving, Chelsea spread her arms, shielding it from the MNU. Dirt was kicked up behind her as the Prawn turn and ran into the tents, vanishing from sight.

Instantly Callum was there, shining a torch into her eye to check for any signs of concussion. Impatiently, Chelsea pushed him away, turning to face the MNU officer who had struck her.

Stepping close, she rested her fingers on his chest lightly, looking him dead in the eye. She was actually less than an inch shorter than him, and with her scars and the blood, she was sure she looked plenty intimidating with her eyes simmering with pure hate.

"Don't think that because I'm a doctor I am a nice person," she whispered. "I'm really not. You touch me or treat one of them like that again, I'll put you in traction for the rest of your life. Understand?"

Then she turned and walked away, holding a hand to her forehead.

Meghan remained behind as all the other doctors and techs bar two followed Chelsea. Staring at the MNU officers, she said quietly, "I suggest you all learn from this, gentlemen. We're here to help the non-humans, and many of those that have joined us, for their own safety, have military and combat training. Imagine what they can do to you if you piss them off." The way she spoke, however, said, 'Imagine what _I_ can do to you.'

"Come on. I'll take care of that nose."

As she walked back towards the tents, Meghan turned to look at the line of tents, and saw what might have been the wounded Prawn watching them in silence. When it noticed her looking, however, it vanished into the growing dark like it had never been there.

First contact had been made, and it had been bloody.

Meghan knew that things would only get worse before they got any better.

.

…

~*~

…

.

Chelsea's head wound was superficial, needing only paper stitches to hold it closed once the bleeding had stopped. The skin had just split under the force of the punch, that was all.

She knew she'd have a glorious shiner in the morning, though.

Regardless, Meghan had ordered her to her tent to rest. Graham and Callum had joined her for a meal, since the mess hall wasn't set up yet. It had been comforting and cosy and they had laughed, forgetting about her bruise and the Prawns and MNU. She decided that they didn't need the mess.

She hoped that they set the showers up post haste, though.

Callum and Graham had bade her goodnight and headed out after a while, leaving Chelsea to unpack in silence. Slowly the bustle of the camp outside faded as people went to sleep and Chelsea had settled in for the night as well.

Sleep had eluded her, however, and finally she had pulled out the silver chain around her throat, settling the items hung on it in her palm. Instantly a sense of calm washed over her as she felt their comforting weight against her skin. Her thumb rubbed smooth metal and she closed her eyes, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

She remembered the Prawn child that had been chased away.

She remembered the child dying in Morris' clinic.

She remembered…

She slept…

~*~

* * *

_**For the reviewers, because they feed the plot bunnies sugar, which keeps them – and me – awake:**_

_**Fire Safety:**__ Thank you. Believe me. So do I. Heh._

_**Herr Wozzeck**__: MNU is the most hated, devious and insidious company in the world, at the moment. They are desperate to save themselves. Will they pull a fast one with so much at stake? I'd put money on it. Will it result in the Mexican standoff? Maybe. Maybe not. You'll have to find out. As for Wikus? He __**will**__ be making an appearance in this story, and it won't be a small one, either. Keep an eye out for him. He'll appear before he's actually named._

_**Destiny Intertwined**__: Thank you very much for your compliments. It's good to know that my writing had the desired effect on a reader. It's what every author wants to hear._

_Chelsea is a very special character and a special woman. Her eyes are indeed awesome, and I also wished I had them, but there as a reason for that. She's had so much happen to her, I had to give her something back. Also, that bodacious bod? There's a reason for that, too. She's not gorgeous for the sake of it. I hope you continue to enjoy her when her past – and what lies behind those striking eyes – is revealed._

_**Speakfire**__: Thank you, once more, for your kind words. Believe me when I say each expression of gratitude is as heartfelt as the ones before it and all those that come after it. Every individual that enjoys my writing helps my faith in myself as a writer. The description of the circumstance in the start of the chapter was taken from looking at pictures of starving children, which I tried to convey through my writing. I'm glad that it worked._

_And yes, Chelsea was very carefully created. She's emotionally strong, but there is a reason for that. And when you think about the Prawns, they are physically imposing and very much not human. The hesitation felt by Chelsea is a visceral reaction to something unfamiliar and may potentially be a help. No matter how strong or feelings are, instincts are the reason we're still around. They're not easy to ignore._

_And to all those that read and did not review, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and will continue reading. As always, creative criticism and pointing out of errors is welcome. Flames will be used to cook breakfast._

_Love_

_Anne_

Chapter 2


	4. Ch 3: An Act of Trust

_**Warning**__: Long chapter._

~*~

**Chapter Three:**

An Act of Trust

~*~

Two Prawns crawled through the rubbish left over from the set up of the medical encampment. Surprisingly, the MNU officers didn't seem bothered by their presence, letting them rummage through the garbage. One scooped up some items in its cloth-wrapped arms, cupping them carefully, and wandered off whilst the other kept searching, tossing aside useless items.

When it found a can that used to hold the food that one of the doctors had consumed for lunch, it buried its mouth against the open top and licked up whatever remained inside. Then the can, too, went into the bag.

Another Prawn came up behind it, holding up a metal pole. The two of them got into a discussion about how it could be used, the first Prawn taking it from the second and tapping it on its carapace-covered arm, then peering down its hollow length.

Nodding, the first Prawn returned it to the second and it scampered off happily.

Chelsea stood in silence, watching the activity go on with a dark scowl on her face. It was eerie how similar starving Prawns looked to starving children. Curious, but happily distracted. She had seen the scamper through garbage, finding things they could eat, stuffing anything in their mouths. They had played with what they could, but the important thing had always been food.

She remembered the hovels made out of garbage bags and paper in Somalia, the brief month she had been there. She remembered the hovels of sticks and cloth of the nomads wandering across the African desert when some of them had passed by an encampment she had been in.

The Prawns were not dissimilar to disadvantaged humans. Exploited and belittled. Ignored.

MNU represented the corporate greed, avarice and gluttony of the world. Money was what was important. Power. Not the people. Not the non-humans and not the humans. They were alike in their insignificance.

Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest and sunk into darker contemplations.

Nearby, Callum and Graham stood with a female surgeon named Natalie Kingswood. Her eyes were narrowed from the glare of the sun as she fanned herself with her hat. Callum grabbed it and plopped it on her head. Since they were both pale, he knew how well she would burn. He himself had a hat on and a nice glaze of sun block on his skin.

Natalie was a tiny woman who barely topped five feet in height. The Prawns looked like they could step on her, she was so small. Her hair was black and cut short around her face, with the left side slightly longer than the right at the front. She was beautiful and looked seventeen, which seemed to irk her furiously since she was, as she claimed, twenty six.

"It's been three days," she said quietly, adjusting the hat. "Three days and not a single patient."

"And with almost two million of them out there, there's bound to be someone that needs medical assistance," agreed Callum. "But none of them will come forward."

"Can you blame them though?" whispered Natalie, her face dark as she watched the Prawns milling about.

Along with the doctors, the MNU were distributing regular rations to District 10's non-human residents. It was divided into lots of twelve, with rations taken to two lots per day. This meant that the Prawns got a re-stock of food and water every six days.

If they ran out early, too bad.

From what they could see of what was being handed out, six days of rations consisted of ten cans of cat food, a few cow and sheep carcasses and whatever containers the Prawns could carry to and from the huge water trucks. They were only allowed to visit once, their names marked off on a roll to ensure there was no 'unauthorized rationing'.

Surprisingly, Chelsea hadn't hurled abuse when they found this out. She had just turned and walked away from the scene in silence, hatred on her face. She seemed to have a hard time accepting that the Prawns actually liked cat food and that it wasn't some cruel MNU ploy to humiliate them further.

Even when she saw two adolescent Prawns get into a violet fight over a single can, the victor almost inhaling the can and the food within, she only seemed more disgusted.

The doctors, on the other hand, had been promised that anything they requested would be brought to them every three days. Their rations consisted mostly of instant meals and microwavable food, canned goods and anything that could be frozen. But they had fresh meat and sauces and things that the Prawns would never dream of. They also had televisions, movies, stoves and all sorts of items of comfort. Hell, they even had showers.

They also had stocks of cat food for 'treats' for the Prawns that came for treatment.

Not that anyone believed that would happen any time soon. Each of the MNU's deliveries were accompanied by a heavily armed guard to make sure no Prawns got rations they weren't due for. Coupled with the MNU guard that was dragging its heels in leaving, there was a veritable wall of rifles, shotguns and armoured trucks between the doctors and their patients.

Any attempt for a curious Prawn to get close had been met with violence from the MNU, to the point that the Prawns just didn't try anymore.

Meghan had tried to reason with the MNU, to create an opening for them to get through. The officers had simply replied that it was all 'for their protection'.

Assholes. And a few other choice words Chelsea had called them.

"They're so afraid of us." Natalie shook her head, scowling. "I can only imagine what the MNU did to them to make them so afraid."

"The MNU needs to leave," snapped Graham. "As long as they're here, we can't do out work."

"What is our work?" asked Callum. "We don't know anything about Prawn physiology. We don't know anything to treat them."

Walking past, Chelsea caught the last of Callum's words, and her quiet words rang out as she headed to her tent, "Yes, but with the MNU here, we won't even have the chance to learn."

.

…

~*~

…

.

"_Chelsea_…"

Instantly Chelsea was awake, sitting upright in her bed as her head lolled groggily. Too many incidents of being woken up as a patient crashed, or as a gunfight erupted, meant that she was rapidly clawing her way out of sleep, reaching blindly for her boots. "What… what what is it?""

Natalie Kingswood was crouched at the end of her bed, a torch in her hands, throwing her face into eerie relief.

"_There's an alien in the mess tent_."

For a moment, Chelsea was totally struck by the sheer absurdity of the situation. It was like a ten year old was telling her parent that there was a monster in her closet. That was Chelsea's first thought. The next was to wonder why in the fuck Natalie was telling _her_. The woman was closer to Callum and Graham than Chelsea, and they were men, so it would make sense for her to tell one of them. It would also make more sense for her to tell one of the MNU guards.

"Why are you telling me?"

Natalie stood up as Chelsea made sure there were no scorpions in her boots before she pulled them on. She averted her eyes when she saw Chelsea wasn't wearing very much, either, but the dark prevented her from seeing the true extent of her scarring. Chelsea knew because she was looking away, not blatantly staring.

"I… If I told a guard, they'd kill it. And I'd feel weird running to one of the guys."

Oh, she'd feel weird.

Rolling her eyes faintly, Chelsea pulled on a shirt and buttoned it up, "So why are you telling _me_…?"

"Cause… cause I was thinking maybe if we talked to it, it might help us convince the others to trust us. And… well. You like the Prawns most out of everyone."

Oh, the girl had a noggin on her. Chelsea liked her already. Except she kept saying 'Prawns'. Then again, they didn't have anything else to call them.

"Alright. Let's go."

Taking the torch, Chelsea lead the way from her tent to the mess hall. Two patrolling MNU guards moved to ask what they were doing, but Chelsea snapped as she walked past, "We're having lesbian sex and we forgot the honey."

Even in the dark, she could tell Natalie's face was bright red as the guards just turned and walked away robotically.

"Why did you tell them that?"

"Cause they won't ask any questions."

"But did you have to tell them _that_?"

"If all else fails, play a lesbian."

"O…okay…?"

As they got closer to the mess tent, it was deathly quiet, and both of them stopped near one wall to listen.

"Are you sure?" mouthed Chelsea.

Natalie nodded and mouthed back, "I saw it go in. Maybe it left?"

Chelsea twitched when she heard a can hit the dirt, roll, and then be picked up.

"Nope."

She and the other woman made their way carefully to the front entrance, the torch off long before they got there. At the last moment, Natalie grabbed Chelsea's shirt, scaring thirty years from her life.

"It wasn't very big."

Oh well that was good to know _now_…

Taking a deep breath, Chelsea turned around the edge of the tent, squinting to see in the gloomy illumination of the half moon above. It was perched awkwardly on the edge of a crate rummaging through the contents. It was filling its arms with every can it could possibly carry, boxes of instant food and plastic packets discarded uselessly in its rummaging. It had its back to them slightly, its mouthparts moving rapidly as it muttered to itself unintelligibly.

Chelsea clicked on the torch, shining it directly on the Prawn, "Hey."

The Prawn whirled, dropping the cans in its arms as it threw up its hands to defend itself. It went to step back, its foot coming down on the air, and it crumpled out of sight with a strange squawk. Popping back into view, it stared at them, terrified and visibly shaking. Its hands few into the air again, shaking hard, as it looked left and right, trying to find a way to escape. However, the only way out was past Chelsea and Natalie.

"He's terrified," breathed the smaller woman. She stepped forward, holding up her hands as well. "Don't be scared. Please. We're not going to hurt you."

It cowered in the corner, not looking at her, shielding itself as if it expected to be shot or beaten. Natalie made a sound of utter horror at its fear, stopping and not attempting to approach it. Chelsea walked over to a can and picked it up. Food. It was after the food.

"Don't think you'll like beans…" She put it on the table beside her, then looked back over to see Natalie was crouched before it, trying to coax it out of the corner it had crammed itself into, wedged between two stacks of boxes.

"Wait here." She handed the torch to Natalie and turned, jogging out of the tent. By the time she got back, the Prawn was still in its corner, but it wasn't trembling as hard. Every time Natalie tried to touch it, though, it only pressed itself tighter into its little hole.

Chelsea got out a plate and opened the can in her hand, tipping the cat food onto the ceramic dish. The sound made the Prawn look up and Chelsea realized that it was starving. She knew the look when hunger to the point that it circumvented all other instincts. Even self preservation.

Crouching beside Natalie, she held out the plate to the Prawn, "Here."

It watched them both, eyes wide, looking back and forth. Cautiously, a hand reached out, fingers shaking hard. Then it grabbed a fistful of cat food and shoved it into its mouth, chewing hungrily. When neither of them moved, it reached out and grabbed the place, pressing its face into the dish and devouring every scrap of food.

"You've got an appetite on you," commented Natalie. "You must be starving…"

It put the plate down and pushed it back cautiously, jerking away when Chelsea reached for it. Her face twisted in pain at its terror, and she put the plate back on the bench.

"You were stealing the food?"

It looked away, nodding, mouthparts moving constantly. It wrung its hands, fingers sliding over one another.

"Was it for you?"

It shook its head, chattering in its first recognizable words.

"**Others, too**." It looked at them, and then away, mouthparts drawing up. Chelsea struggled to understand what it was saying, but she got the general gist of it. Natalie, it seemed, had perfect comprehension. "**Hungry... There isn't as much food here…**"

Chelsea shook her head in disgust, pushing herself to her feet. She was getting better at recalling their language, and what she heard made her wish she couldn't understand them at all. Since Natalie seemed to understand him, it made sense for her to stay and for Chelsea to go. "Natalie, keep him here." Immediately the Prawn jerked around, eyes widening with terror. "Easy, easy. I'm going to get you some food. I promise."

It didn't seem to believe her, but it appeared it resigned itself to the fact that it had no choice, leaning back down, still shaking. Natalie knelt down beside it, scowling and as Chelsea left, she started trying to comfort the Prawn.

When Chelsea came back, she was holding two plastic bags doubled up on one another, filled to the brim. Natalie turned to look at her, her face drawn with whatever she had heard, and the Prawn looked about to faint with relief when it saw no MNU officers behind Chelsea.

"He says there are a lot of sick… 'Outlanders'," she whispered. "A lot. But they're deep in District 10 and they won't come out." She looked ill. "After what he's told me, I don't blame him."

Chelsea had only been gone five minutes…

"**Scared**." The Prawn tilted his head as he watched Chelsea crouch down again. It said something that Chelsea didn't quite understand, and it seemed to realize this, trying again. "**MNU will take them away. Experiments.** **Quarantine**."

"Can't you understand him?" asked Natalie. The way she said it clearly said, 'Why are you here, then?'

"I am fluent in understanding their language," retorted Chelsea a little more sharply than she intended. "I just haven't heard it in three years. I got rusty. It's coming back to me, though." It was. Slowly. "The MNU isn't going to hurt any of you anymore," she turned her attention to the Prawn. "We're going to protect you."

"**We've heard that before.**" The rancor in his clicks and purrs was easily discernable and it was painful to hear.

Chelsea made a face and offered him the bag, setting it down on the ground for him to grab. Cautiously it hooked its fingers in the handles, dragging it closer and opening it to peer into its depths. Natalie shone the torch so it could see the contents. When the Friskies labels and bottles of water were illuminated, it gave a chattering cry of wordless joy, looking back at them like it had experienced its first Christmas.

Maybe it had.

"Not all humans are bad," said Chelsea. "Come on. We'll get you out of here without being seen."

.

…

~*~

…

.

The sun was pinkening the sky when he ran into the depths of District 10 once more, not looking back, his feet propelling him over the ground so fast that it was like he was flying. The bag of cat food and water was held tightly to his chest. The two human 'females' had shown him a back way out of their encampment, with one of them distracting some guards long enough for him to dart through the open area between the trucks and the first line of tents.

They hadn't turned him over to the MNU humans.

They had given him food.

The small one said they were doctors, healers, they made people better. They wanted to make his people better.

Could they be believed?

His arms tightened around the food as he prayed, desperately, that this was authentic, that humans were reaching through the fence that MNU had erected, to join hands with the Outlanders.

Better late than never.

.

…

~*~

…

.

They had given him the name Michael. A name he couldn't pronounce. A name that he didn't care for.

They couldn't pronounce the name his parent had given him, so why would he bother about their substitute name? It didn't define him. It meant nothing to him. It was something they could pronounce and could tag on him like the label sprayed on the carapace on his head.

A carapace that was still healing from the damage it had taken a few days before, a vicious beating for no reason.

Not that MNU had ever needed a reason to brutalize and kill an Outlander.

His clawed hind feet carried him through the encampment, towards the cramped white tent that he now called home. Or at least, until the MNU came and uprooted them, tossing them into the next pathetic excuse for a hovel. Amazing that their numbers got larger, yet their homes got smaller. Their land. Their resources.

At least in District 9 they had had a constant supply of food and money, even if it was meagre. Even if they could barely scrape by. The gangs had exploited them, but they'd been a sight more reliable than MNU had.

In District 10, they had to rely on the shipments by the MNU. If they decided to simply starve their kind to death, there was nothing they could do about them. The fences were high and topped with razor wire. They had missile batteries and fucking encampments outside the gates. The occasional Outlander might escape, but it was a _long_ walk to the nearest city, Johannesburg, and often the Outlander that left never came back.

Michael rubbed his claws along his face, exhausted. He had spent the night helping out with other Outlanders, the sick and injured that remained after their relocation. Michael was not a healer, but he was physically strong enough to be seen as a dominant member of their castes, and therefore he was respected and obeyed automatically. It helped with some of the Outlanders that had lost their minds to the fear, or the hunger, or the rage.

Movement in his tent ripped Michael out of his musings, his head flying up when he heard something rustling around within. His antennae twitched as he tasted the pheromones left on the entrance, before swearing quietly. Tossing the flap open, he stepped inside with a snarl of rage.

"**What are you doing here?**"

The younger member of his race turned sharply, blinking wide eyes. His 'human' name was Jeremy, and he actually liked it, which rankled on Michael. Not that he could blame him. The younger ones, the second generations born on this dirt bowl of a planet, didn't know any better. Didn't know anything else.

For a moment he was frozen in spot, before looking at the can in his hand. Lifting it, he presented it to the larger, older Outlander, flashing him a nervous smile.

"**I was bringing you some food. I know you're almost out, so I brought you some mo**-"

Michael strode forward and snatched the can from his hand, tossing it around until he could see the feline label on the front. Friskies. Cat food. Already his mouth was salivating with pre-digestive fluids, the flesh pulling away from the carapace plates in his mouth which would crush the metal and slice it open easily, letting him taste the addicting meat within. Shaking his head to bring himself to the here and now, he curled his claws around the can, feeling it give slightly under the pressure.

"**Where did you get this? We don't get rations for three more days. Did you steal this from someone**?!" To steal from a fellow Outlander was a taboo amongst their kind. Humans stole from them enough without them stealing from one another. What you found in the rubbish heaps was free game, but once it was in one's possession, in their home, it was off limits unless offered.

The smaller Outlander shook his head, his antennae whipping left to right.

"**No! Never. And they're not… not unauthorized rationing, either. They were given to me**." He lifted the bag in his other hand, bulging with cans.

"**By who**?" Who could spare that much food? No one in their area got food for three more days, and with things so scarce, few were willing to offer up stocks. "**Where did you get it**?" Michael's voice was louder, sharper, causing Jeremy to cringe.

"**One… of the humans from the camp…**"

Pheramones of rage exploded from Michael, causing Jeremy to totter backwards and fall on his behind. "_**You went to the human camp?! ALONE**_?!"

"**N-no! I mean… Yes. But… I snuck in! I got all the way to their food! No one saw me!**"

Michael shook the can like it was evidence of his lies, "**Obviously **_**someone**_** saw you**!"

"**No! No they didn't. I mean. They came to the tent when I was rifling around.**"

Michael stopped, eyes narrowing, "**They**?"

"**Yeah. Nice humans. Female ones. They didn't bring any MNU people, either. I thought they'd scream. The females always do… but they didn't. I don't think they understood me very well, but they knew what I meant. And one of them got me food. And they snuck me back out of the camp and everything.**" He held up the bag, eyes wide. "**They… gave me this food. They said they were here to help…**"

"**These females. Was one of them scarred?**"

"**Y-yes. Scarred. And with… odd eyes**."

Michael jerked back slightly as her face swam into his mind, the gills at his throat working as the pheromones faded from the air, his mood stabilizing. "_I'm not MNU._" He remembered her, shielding him from the officers with her own body. Defending him even as he grabbed her like that.

He went to touch the cracked carapace on his head, but stopped when he nearly beaned himself with the can of cat food. Scowling, he put it down, looking at Jeremy.

"**Don't go back there.**"

Jeremy made a wordless sound of frustration, hopping back to his feet. "**Why not? They're not the same as the MNU. She was nice. I really believe they're here to help us.**"

Michael rose up to his full height, advancing on Jeremy, who backed up sharply, "**They came with the MNU. They can't be trusted. No one that that is in any way associated with the MNU can be trusted**!" Michael clenched his fists, rage curling in his stomach as he thought of the atrocities that humans had subjected his kind to. "**Humans cannot be trusted.**"

"**The only humans we've known were MNU ones**," reminded Jeremy. "**These ones are different. Maybe… maybe we should give them a chance?**"

"**We have given them twenty eight seasonal cycles on this worthless dustbowl of chances**!" raged Michael, sending Jeremy skittering towards the door. "**They deserve no more**!"

But Jeremy was gone, leaving Michael alone with his rage. His gills pumped rage pheromones into the air as he looked down at the can on the table beside him, chest heaving. Then he picked it up, turning to hurl it at some equipment he had managed to take with him from District 9.

His arm, however, halted, and he lowered the can to stare at the cat on the front.

.

…

~*~

…

.

"Do not move, Prawn!"

"Stay the _fuck_ back!"

"What's going on?" Meghan stepped out from between two trucks, to see that five MNU officers were staring at a large Prawn, aiming their various weapons at him. He had his hands at his sides, lax and unthreatening. Dried blood was on his carapace, is upper arms and thighs wrapped in black cloth and secured with duct tape.

He was the large Prawn that had been attacked for being near Chelsea the night she had arrived, Meghan knew instantly.

"What do you want?" she asked him quietly, stepping closer despite the protests of the MNU officers.

His antennae waved as his mouthparts moved, before he finally spoke, "**I want to speak to the doctor with odd eyes.**"

"Odd eyes? You mean Chelsea?"

He shook his head and shrugged, "**I do not know her name.**"

"She's scarred?"

He seemed to be trying to remember this, then shook his head again, "**I don't know. I couldn't see. She has eyes of a different colour. I have never seen that before.**"

"Chelsea." She turned to ask the MNU officer to get her, and then stopped, looking at the Prawn. Finally, she said, "Follow me."

It tilted its head, looking at the MNU officers, who were staring aghast, then back at her.

"They won't hurt you."

"Are you in-"

Meghan turned to look at the officer that spoke, "Don't raise your voice to me." Then she turned and walked through the trucks, heading towards Chelsea's tent. Heavy footsteps behind her told her that not only the Prawn, but the MNU officers were following her.

Reaching Chelsea's tent, she called, "Chelsea, you have someone that wants to see you?"

"Coming."

Meghan stepped back and nodded her head at the tent. The Prawn's mouthparts twitched, the tentacles drawing up and lowering, before he stepped to the entrance slightly. Meghan, meanwhile, stared at its back. Why did it want Chelsea? And what did it intend for her? She didn't believe it wanted to hurt her, but it specifically asked for her, and it seemed to have a specific purpose.

But what was it?

Meghan didn't believe the Prawns were mindless animals. Not at all. They were coherent thinking creatures with emotions and feelings. She had seen it first hand, their fear, their anger, their sadness. She knew they were people, just like her. People who had been abused, who had suffered oppression, prejudice and injustice. Who had been tortured and practically enslaved by the MNU, discarded by the rest of mankind.

But this one was here, for Chelsea specifically.

Had Chelsea managed to reach them, where Meghan had failed?

The flap moved back and Chelsea stepped out of her tent, "What is iiiiii…" The word trailed off into a sound as her eyes hit the Prawn's chest, and then lifted to find its face. Her mouth made an 'oh' of surprise and she blinked rapidly in open shock.

Her eyes jumped to Meghan, then glanced at the Prawn, then back at her.

"He asked for you."

"Me?" the word was a squeak.

"The doctor with the odd eyes."

"Me…" Chelsea looked up at the Prawn, breathing out sharply. "Hi."

His antennae swayed slowly, and then he tossed his head faintly, pointing at her. "**Come with me. No one else. Just you.**" He kept his words short and simple. He knew she had a hard time understanding, it seemed.

Chelsea's mouth dropped open and she floundered for something to say. Finally, all she could manage was a choked, "Why?"

He stepped closer, bending down so his face was close to hers, "**You claim you're not like MNU. That you're here to help us. Prove it.**"

"P-prove it?" she spluttered. "How would coming with you prove anything?" She gestured behind her, "We have everything set up here! We're here to he-"

He made an impatient sound, swiping his hand through the air, "**You hide behind MNU. Look the same as them. We can't trust them. Can't trust you. You fear us. I can smell it on you.**" His antennae brushed her face as if to demonstrate this, making her lean back slightly. She jutted up her chin, taking the motion back, staring at him defiantly.

"I am afraid of you," she said quietly. "But I still want to help you."

"**We have been shown too much cruelty to take your words at face value**." He said it like he didn't really care if she understood or not. She didn't know it all, but she got the gist of it. Rather than be irritated, her face gentled and grew sad. His mouthparts moved, before he stepped even closer, ignoring this. "**You're different, though. And I am willing to let you prove yourself to me. To us. Take a chance, so we can take a chance on you.**" He pointed at her, pressing a finger to her clavicle, "**You want **_**us**_** to trust **_**you**_," he splayed his hand over his own chest, "**but **_**you**_** will not trust **_**us**_."

Chelsea was silent as his words registered. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking into each of his, before a quiet breath slipped past her lips. It was true. She had expected them to come to her. They had all expected the aliens to line up for medical assistance. She had never thought of taking the medical assistance to them, to extend a hand of trust to them.

She had thought bringing the doctors to District 10 had been their first move, and that the ball was in their park. But it wasn't. As long as the MNU were around, as long as there were guns, as long as they insisted the Prawns meet _their_ demands, the ball would _always_ be in their park.

The Prawn before her was offering to help her even out the playing field, and give the Prawns a chance to give the _humans_ a second chance at earning their trust.

"Alright," she said quietly. "I'll go with you."

~*~

* * *

_A long chapter, I know. It was longer, believe me, but I cropped it back. Some Prawns were going to die, which would have been the distraction for Jeremy to get into the camp, but when I saw how big it was getting, I decided to pull it back and deleted that area._

_Especially since it escalated into a fight between Chelsea and the MNU. Again._

_I need to show less of her temper, I think._

_Anyway. We were introduced to another of our three central characters, Michael, by name. We met him in the last chapter, but only have been officially introduced now. Yes, he is a large, powerful Prawn. It's been stated that the Prawns on earth are of a 'worker' caste, and need leadership. Christopher, however, was obviously much smarter than his fellows (he had a website, for crying out loud!) and his kid was a regular chip off the whoawtfgenius block. It made sense that there were would be 'other' castes as well._

_Michael is a soldier caste._

_The final of the three central characters will come in the next chapter. And no, it's not Wikus. He has his own spot to fill, but it's a secondary character spot, like Graham's and Callums and Natalie's, but it will be no less important._

_If the character list starts getting too long, let me know and I'll slap a roster somewhere._

_Final note: I know people have been referring to the Prawns as 'Poleepkwa', but that name is questionable in canon. The only time it is used is in '_Alive in Johannesburg'_, and it was said by a human, which means it could simply be a derogatory turn, such as 'Prawn'. And whilst _Alive in Johannesburg_ was the short film _District 9_ was adapted from, I still consider them somewhat separate. So since 'Prawn' was the only name given to them in the film, and 'Outlanders' was how Christopher referred to his people on his blog, I'll be sticking with those._

_**Reviewer replies, because you guys rock my world and fill my inbox with love:**_

_**Firesafety**__: _MNU LIES_! And yes, MNU is evil. And since all the Prawns have known have been MNU and prejudiced humans, their trust is badly damaged, as you can imagine. Hopefully Chelsea and the doctors and the world that they will show the Prawns will allow them to regain that trust._

_As for Wikus, I planned him to be in there from the get go. The story is going to affect all Prawns, not just a select few, and it would feel weird not to have him there. Besides, he really does love his wife, even if he is a xenophobic, Prawn-hating asshole. I want to give them some happiness. And maybe his experience as a Prawn will help humans understand them better…?_

_Christopher and Oliver will also be mentioned, as will Sherry, Christopher's 'other' child, and what happened to her/him. Whatever._

_**Herr Wozzeck**__: Heh. You could read Firesafety's review reply and have the same answers! And as for scenes of badassery from Chelsea? Oh yeah. You'll be expecting a _lot_ of that. Behind her charity and her want to help lies a dark mind scarred deeply by what she has experienced, and I cannot wait to unleash it on the unsuspecting fools who invoke her wrath._

_**DestinyIntertwined**_**:**_ Believe me, you've seen nothing yet of the amount of pain Chelsea is willing to deal out to protect someone. And yes, she has gone through a lot. She did try to kill herself, after all, and she doesn't seem to be the kind of person that would make that decision lightly._

_**Speakfire**__: Chelsea's inability to recall the Prawn language is expected after three years of not using it. I think it was a stretch she recalled as much as she does. And yes, language barriers are the __**best**__ for character development, because it shows what can transcend language, and what cannot._

_I hope that I'm portraying the Prawn's mistrust of humans accurately, with enough room for a hope for the doctors! How's your fix treating you?_

_**Pinkrollingstone**__: I hope this was enough for you!_

_**Mistah Eleganzah:**__ Thank you! Your compliments really help my confidence in myself, and I can say I'm greedy for more! Thank you for the character compliments, too. I tend to put too much thought in them, sometimes. It's just that, in life, everyone has a story, and I try to incorporate that in their mannerisms, even if it's not revealed exactly what it is._

_However, if you dislike harm done to Prawns, maaaybe this isn't the story for you… I love them too, but twenty eight years of resentment will be hard to get over._

_And for all of you that read this chapter and this story, thank you for your time. I hope you liked it! As always, creative criticism is always welcome. Flames will be doused with tears of mirth._


	5. Ch 4: Reaching Through The Fence

**Warning:** Long Chapter…

**Rewrite Notice:** Must thank Pesonatus for pointing it out. The petite doctor's name is **Natalie Kingswood**. I referred to her as Natasha Kingswood originally, but she kept insisting her name was Natalie, so Natalie it became without me realizing. Stubborn things, these characters…

* * *

~*~

**Chapter Four:**

Reaching Through The Fence

"Alone? _You let her go into District 10_ alone? _Unescorted and completely vulnerable to anything at all_? _Into _District 10?"

"Saying it several times in different ways won't change the answer."

"_She'll be torn to shreds_!"

"I don't think she will."

"_You don't_ think? _Shit_. _If I put money on every time I don't think… This is how the bookies make money, Meghan, and I don't particularly feel like the stakes are on the winning horse. You've taken an unimaginable risk here. With _both_ of our asses_."

"I don't see how your ass is on the line. If she does die, then you have enough clout to condemn every non-human here to death. Isn't that what you want?"

"_What the company wants is none of your concern, Ms Hall_." They always called her 'Ms Hall' when they wanted to be official, and Meghan when they wanted to get under her skin. Sidling close and sticking it between her ribs. She knew their type well.

It was why she hated dealing with them.

But dealing with the MNU was the only way that she could do what she needed to do. But that didn't make it any less difficult. Not because of their rules. The only reason they were in the situation they were in was because they spat on the rules and did what they wanted. No, it was because all the fuckers cared about was their public reputation and their money.

MNU had their fingers in everything from armaments to computer parts to dog food. But that also meant they had friends everywhere.

Friends that would be most reluctant to see them collapse in on themselves. This was both a benefit and a detriment to Meghan and her cause to help the Prawns. A benefit because it meant that the other companies were putting pressure on MNU to crawl through the mud and come out the other side. Because if MNU failed, they could be crippled.

Detriment because it also meant that there were a lot of people wanting to hide what MNU had done to the non-humans, so that eventuality was not a possibility.

But Meghan wouldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let them hide anymore. Events had already been set in motion and she would see them through. MNU wouldn't be able to wash their hands of this. They would get their comeuppance.

She would guarantee it. Had already guaranteed it.

The trap was already in place, and MNU just had to spring it. They would spring it. All they needed was guidance.

Until then, she would bide her time.

"For now, the company and I want the same thing," she said patiently. "I want to help the non-humans and they want me to help the non-humans. Our reasons are irrelevant."

"_For wanting the same thing, you have a strange way of going about it. You know what will happen if she's killed on this goodwill expedition, Ms Hall. And that is something neither of us want. So let's hope your blind faith pays out, because otherwise, this situation is going to get very, very bloody_."

With that, the video call cut off, leaving Meghan sitting quietly in her tent. Her fist opened and closed slowly and she stared down at her hand. Exhaling, she reached out and touched the wedding band on her ring finger, turning it slowly. Then she put her hand on a thick file that had Chelsea's photo paper clipped to the front.

The file denoted her education, her occupational history and her personal history. She knew what she had been through. She knew the depths of her psyche, knew each of her emotional scars. The woman had more psyche evaluations for a single year than many rich and famous had in their entire lifetimes.

She knew MNU had given her Chelsea's profile with the thought that Meghan would refuse her request. Refuse her because her history of unstable mental health. Because of her violent temper. They thought all Meghan would see was her medical records and her liability.

It was almost insulting that they might have even contemplated that. But Meghan had used it to her advantage. Chelsea had been included at her insistence, and the MNU couldn't refuse her, though they had wanted to.

The fact that Chelsea had successfully sued MNU had only be an amusing bonus, and she had relished their distress with a sort of sadistic glee that she would never show anyone.

Meghan knew the kind of woman was behind those mismatched eyes and scars, and she was exactly the woman she needed for what she intended.

She was a woman had known desperation. Had known the darkest depths of despair. Four years previously, she had lain in a hospital bed for two months, completely unresponsive to all attempts of communication, after she had attempted suicide for the _third_ time.

The woman had wanted to die so badly, she had tried three times and, once, she had actually been successful. Many people could call suicide an act of cowardice, an act where the person attempting it didn't consider those that would be left behind. But one had to consider what would drive a person to believe that nothing could ever, ever get better, to the point that death would be a preferable fate to living another day.

That the faint hope of a silver lining was not worth enduring another moment of the storm.

And then, two months after she had finally pulled herself at her catatonic state, Chelsea had joined Doctors Without Borders. She had thrown herself into her cause. She had dedicated her mind, body and soul to helping others. To giving hope to people when she languished for so long without it. A transformation so complete, it was like a caterpillar to a butterfly.

Chelsea had found something worth giving up her life, something worth closing her eyes for, and then she had found something stronger than that, something stronger than whatever had made her want to die, and it seemed that she had also found it in the plight of the non-humans.

For the MNU to doubt her strength was laughable. Meghan knew the moment she had read the profile, the moment she had met her, that Chelsea would be central to her plans.

If anyone could reach out to a race without hope, it was a woman who had also lost it, and somehow managed to regain the flickering candlelight in all of the darkness.

And God have mercy on the MNU if she ever decided to turn that determination on them, because Meghan knew it would only be an act of God that would save them.

Which was what Meghan was counting on.

~*~

Chelsea felt eyes on her, and her skin crawled in reaction. Not out of disgust, or fear, but of a natural, visceral reaction. Well. Yes. Fear, too. Fear of the fact that she was surrounded by creatures that numbered greater than she. Creatures that were stronger. Creatures that, in the most basic understanding of the concept, were predators, and she was prey.

It didn't help, she supposed, that she walked in the shadow of one of the biggest Prawns she had ever known.

Granted she had only officially known two, and one of them was undeveloped, so she didn't have much to go by, but he still was visibly larger than the others she walked past, and her doctor's eye did a physical comparison between her guide and their watchers.

He was taller, yes, and broader, but not only that, the exoskeleton carapace on his body was much, much darker, hovering between green and black. It was thicker as well, broader about the shoulders and head. He had small spikes on his forearms that were larger and his legs were slightly larger, which meant the power in them was greater.

His antennae were slightly longer, as well, thicker at the base, and his eyes were more russet, whereas the others were amber/gold. Like cats.

She had tried engaging him in conversation several times, but he hadn't responded. He had simply lead her deeper and deeper into District 10, to the point that she was entirely lost. District 10 housed almost two million Prawns, and even though it was mostly tents that served as homes, it was still the size of a city. After an hour of walking, Chelsea was damn glad she was physically fit.

The Prawn, on the other hand, didn't show a single sign of fatigue.

So Chelsea took the time to take in the living conditions of the Prawns. Although she had been told they lived in less squalor, it became painfully clear that it might not have been such a beneficial thing. The aliens didn't seem to waste a single thing, and had expended every scrap item into fortifying their tent homes.

They milled about, talked, played games, ate. She saw adult Prawns foraging with young Prawns and young Prawns foraging alone. Every now and again her escort would shift where he stood, so that he was between her and a knot of Prawns who did not seem too pleased to see her. Once or twice one or two tried to approach him to speak, but he simply ignored them. Once, he even lifted his arm and put it behind her, to keep her walking.

She didn't look back when she heard them shouting.

Aside from those incidents, there was one other moment that stood out in her already bizarre walk. It wasn't a threat, or any sort of hostile action. It was simply a single Prawn, sitting on a pile of garbage. The other Prawns gave him a wide berth, or simply ignored him altogether as he poked despondently at the trash at his feet without any enthusiasm. His head was down and he appeared somewhat unsteady in a crouch that all Prawns seemed quite comfortable with.

As if sensing her attention, his head came up sharply and he curled his arms into his chest, one of which was bandaged. Then he turned and loped away into the tents.

Chelsea didn't realize she had stopped to watch him until the massive Prawn returned to her side. When she turned to look at him, he was staring in the direction the lone Prawn had gone, before looking back at her.

She didn't ask for an explanation, nor did he offer one. They simply continued on their way in silence.

Chelsea had an inkling about what she might be encountering when the Prawn had instructed her to bring medical items, though he had not specified what she would find. So the pack she had on her back was stuffed with gauze, bandages and disinfectant, as well as a box of surgical gloves.

Graham, Callum and Natalie had come across her packing the bag hurriedly in the supplies tent, each of them concerned and astonished she had agreed to venture alone into District 10. Graham had tried to make her take him with her. Callum had tried to talk her out of it. Natalie, surprisingly, had just hugged her and told her to come back alive, or else.

It had only hurt Chelsea to realize that the Prawn had been right. They didn't trust the Prawns. Amazing, since it was them the Prawns should not trust them. Then again, it was the reason for that mistrust that the doctors were wary.

A kicked dog would only take so much abuse before it tore its owner's throat out.

A tragic circumstance that only lead to more tragedy.

"**We're here.**"

Pulled from her dark contemplations, Chelsea's head lifted to see before her lay a massive tent that was made from several of the concentration-camp-like abodes meshed together, held in place by rough stitching and duct tape.

There was also a noticeable distance between this massive Frankenstein tent and the tents that formed the next homes.

They were 'here' alright. But where was it? Chelsea looked questioningly at the large Prawn and he exhaled, stepping up to the entrance, which was simply a hole draped with a plastic tarp, before glancing back at her. His antennae waved slowly and his mouthparts moved in what might have been unintelligible muttering, but she realized now that it was a form of facial expression. The way the tentacles drew up, particular sounds of different parts touching, was like a human's lips pursing with indecision. Especially coupled with the waving of his antennae, which could almost be attributed to glancing around uncertainly.

Chelsea just looked up at him, before dropping her eyes to the tent, wondering what could be within that he was so concerned about showing her. Finally his hand reached out, his two fingers grabbed the front of the tent and pulled it away, lifting it high for her. Dark shapes moved indiscernibly beyond, and the sound of alien voices and cries emerged from within. She hesitated for a moment, before stepping forward with more courage than she felt.

It was like she had entered hell.

The smell hit her first, the signature scent of decay and filth, left to stagnate too long in an enclosed space. Sickly sweet, but mostly sickly. Chelsea couldn't stifle a cough as her hand flew up to her face, swallowing hard.

"Oh my God…"

Her human voice made half a dozen stooped over Prawns whirl towards them. Even in the dark, shock and horror registered in the air as they realized a human had entered the tent. But Chelsea barely registered their existence as she stared around her in open horror, feeling her throat close over.

Dozens upon dozens of injured and sick Prawns, some writhing in agony, some coughing wetly, some lying very still. All laid out before her in the depths of District 10, far from human help. Far from any help. Chelsea took a step forward, but her escort extended his hand, waving her back.

Chelsea cast him a look of outraged incredulity, "Is that why you brought me here? To look and not help? You expect me to stand here and see this and not _do_ something?"

Her Prawn narrowed his eyes faintly, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention to an approaching Prawn, which looked less than pleased with her arrival as the two of them engaged in a heated debate.

The one the humans called Michael shook his head in irritation, scowling, "**Just let her look. Let her see. She claims to be a doctor. Let her prove herself.**"

The smaller Outlander had been named 'Anna' by the humans. He had been told that this was a 'female' name, but since the Outlanders were hermaphrodites, or rather monogendered, female and male names were irrelevant to them. In fact, human names were irrelevant to them altogether. It was not how they referred to one another.

"**She is a human. Get her out of here. She will only further torment them**!"

"**Give her a chance.**"

"**We gave them a chance. We gave them twenty eight seasonal rotations of chances. What did it get us? Nothing. Nothing but torment, abuse and suffering. You of all us should know the depths of the depravity that humans will sink to. Think of what they took from you**!"

A threatening snarl escaped Michael and he felt the little human tense behind him as she heard it, "**Watch your words.**"

Anna drew back, sighing, "**I apologize. I spoke out of turn. But I do not want them further traumatized. To be abused by humans, and then treated by them. They won't be able to tell the difference.**"

Chelsea eyed the two of them in silence. Their words were too fast for her to ever hope to comprehend what they were saying, but body language seemed universal. Her Prawn – amazing herself even as those words crossed her mind – seemed to be defending her, or his decision, and the smaller Prawn before him was clearly unhappy with one or both of those.

Feeling helpless, Chelsea exhaled and turned back towards the tent, jaw locking at the scrutiny of dozens of eyes, watching her, waiting for her to do something. Not wanting to allow her fate to be argued by the Prawns, wanting to help them make their own decisions, she slid off her pack and dropped it to the ground. Her Prawn barely glanced at her, thinking she was relieving herself of the weight, before returning to the argument.

Chelsea quietly pulled on two surgical gloves and tucked a penlight behind her ear. Glancing at the arguing Prawns, she cautiously stepped closer to the nearest 'bed', where a Prawn lay. His arms were a mass of blood and infection, twisted and held carefully to his torso. When she moved to his side, he shied away, eyes wide with fear. She couldn't be sure if his trembling was due to pain, fever or fear.

She was betting it might be all three.

"My name is Chelsea," she said softy, holding her hands up in a nonthreatening manner. "I'm a doctor."

It shied further, and she was vaguely aware of hurried movement behind her, but when she wasn't grabbed, she took it as a good sign.

"I'm here to help you," she said softly.

Another Prawn came up on the other side of the bed, talking rapidly and waving a hand at her to shoo her away. She felt the presence of her Prawn behind her, surprisingly reassuring, and he put one hand on her shoulder.

The first time he had touched her since the first night they had met.

"**Go slowly. She doesn't understand our language well, yet.**"

The Prawn narrowed its eyes, before it looked at Chelsea again, scorn visible in its alien features, even in the dark tent.

"**What use is a doctor that can't understand us**?"

"I understood that," she retorted, eyes narrowed. Then she turned her gaze away and down to the cowering Prawn, her eyes roving over him. "What happened?"

It was the Prawn that had argued with her Prawn that answered, "**He worked for MNU.**" She noticed that he was keeping his words slow and simple for her, but it was patronizingly done. "**Loading for them. The equipment was hard for him to use, so he asked if he could make it easier on himself by loading the items by hand. We're strong enough to do that. His supervisor, a human, proceeded to beat him with a crowbar, asking 'How strong are you now, freak?'**" He gestured at the wounded Prawn. "**He has been unable to move his arms since then.**"

Chelsea's face was white with horror, "How long ago was this?"

"**Three months. A few days before the relocation.**"

"_Three_…" Chelsea broke off, blinking rapidly. If he had been human, his bones would have healed and he would need them re broken and reset to work properly. But he was a Prawn. He didn't have bones. Just an exoskeleton and soft tissue beneath.

She reached out to take one of his arms, but a hand snapped out to grab hers. She looked up sharply to see the Prawn that had explained the injuries was the one that had halted her movement.

"**Do you even know how to treat him**?"

Chelsea looked at them each, then at the cowering Prawn before her.

"Teach me."

~*~

Chelsea stumbled out of the tent what her watch told her was four hours later, but felt like a thousand. Her legs were weak, her head was light and all she could smell was sickness and death. Familiar injuries on alien bodies whirled in her mind until all she could see was suffering and fear. She had worked herself raw, both physically and spiritually, learning about alien physiology, suggesting things, having things both accepted and rejected.

She worked with the aliens, who were not official doctors, but knew enough about their own bodily functions to be able to assist her with her task. She wanted to take notes, but had failed to pack the necessary things upon leaving. The gauze, bandages and disinfectant she _had_ brought with her had been used in the first hour, and she hadn't even made it through a quarter of the tent.

Her Prawn physiological advisor, who had etched 'his' human name in the dirt as 'Anna' in English, had informed her there were seven other tents like that one to house the wounded and sick, and thousands of other Prawns who could continue to function with their injuries within the encampment.

The sheer magnitude of the task laid out before Chelsea and the team struck home, and as she sank down into the dirt outside the tent, she felt like she had been hit in the face with a sledgehammer. Their suffering, their despair, reached into a part of her she had long tried to bury, and she hated herself for every moment of weakness, because the only Prawns in there, were the ones who could no longer walk, or feed themselves.

She couldn't imagine what injuries Prawns considered minor enough to 'keep functioning'.

She shoved her hand into her pack, which she had brought with her, and scrounged up a granola bar and a bottle of water. Drinking deeply of the water, she unwrapped the bar and opened her mouth to take a bite.

Then stopped when she saw a young Prawn directly ahead of her, eyes wide as it stared.

"Hey there, little guy…" Her eyes tracked his, and she realized he was staring at her granola bar. Scowling faintly, she lifted it. "You want this?" His eyes followed it and his abdominal arms twitched. His fingers twisted together, and he didn't tear his gaze from the food. She realized, then, that because she wasn't aware of Prawn physiology, she didn't know what a starving child looked like. But suddenly she was reminded of that emaciated African child of so many days ago, so light she could have lifted him with one hand.

"Here," Chelsea offered the bar to him, and he stared at it, then at her. "Go on. You can have it." The way he reached for it made it clear he expected her to jerk it away from him at any time, and her heart clenched as she wondered who had played such a cruel joke on a child.

The bar was snatched from her hand suddenly and he retreated several steps, watching her cautiously. Then he shoved the first half of the bar in his mouth. Wrapper and all.

"Whoa! No!" She reached out, grabbing the end of the wrapped that poked out of his mouth. "Stop!"

The Prawn child held on stubbornly, making feline growling sounds of irritation as she tugged him closer. He kicked at her arm, pushing at her with surprising strength. So much for weak and starving! It was like wrestling a joey!

"I'm not… OW trying to take… food from you! Stop that!" She grabbed one of his legs, trying to stop him from kicking her. "Stop it! Stop!" She lowered her voice, staring at him. "Stop kicking me."

The Prawn child stilled staring up at her with wide eyes, now laced with fear.

"The wrapper will make you sick," she said calmly, ignoring the burn of her arm where his little claws had scratched her. "Let go of the wrapper. You can keep the food. Just let go of the wrapper."

Slowly his mouth opened by increments, and she let him down so he wouldn't hit the ground once he released it. They came apart in a burst of movement, the young Prawn rolling away and chewing hungrily on whatever remained in his mouth, his hands pressed to it to prevent anything from escaping. Chelsea was left with a saliva-covered plastic wrapper. Wrinkling her nose, she shook the saliva off, and then stuffed it into her pocket. No sense in littering.

Reaching into her pack, she pulled out another granola bar, this time removing the wrapper from it properly and holding the naked bar out to the child. He stared at her, then at the bar. His motions were now more trusting as he came closer, reaching out to grab the bar. Moving away once again, he sat down, stuffing the whole bar into his mouth to eat.

Chelsea watched him eat in silence, her eyes tracking over his body. Due to the insectoid nature of the Prawns, they didn't get emaciated like invertebrates, but that didn't mean they couldn't show signs of starvation. She'd have to find out what those signs would be, to better identify them, so she knew who to help.

Knew who to help? If the tent was any indication, they _all_ needed help.

Speaking of helping… She should go back to the tent, since her lunch had just been eaten. She handed the last of the granola bars to the Prawn child, which it now unwrapped itself and ate.

"Don't make yourself sick." She shook her head and pushed her way to her feet, dusting off her behind. However, when she turned back to enter the tent once more, she found her way barred by her escort.

The massive Prawn was staring at the child, which hopped happily over to his feet. It pointed at its mouth, then at Chelsea, mumbling something that was too quiet for her to hear or understand.

"**I see that**." Her guide lifted his eyes to look at her, and she pursed her lips faintly. "**We need to go back.**"

Chelsea's eyes widened, "What? Wh… what?" She looked at the sky, then at her watch. "It's only-"

"**You are tired, hungry, and if you are not back before dark, as you promised, they will send out search parties. Armed ones.**" He was getting good at speaking slowly enough for her to understand.

The only thing Chelsea could think of to respond to that was, "You heard the promise?" He had been some distance away.

"**We have very good hearing.**"

She would remember that.

He reached down to shoo the child away, and it sat down forlornly as he walked off, motioning for her to follow. Chelsea walked a bit behind him, but at the last second she turned, smiled, and waved over her shoulder.

The Prawn child waved back, and gave what she could only hope was a Prawn smile.

She didn't know. She hadn't ever seen one before.

~*~

The Outlander and the human walked back up the slight slope to the camp and were greeted by the other humans, who seemed very suspicious of their large brother and concerned for the health of their female companion.

They seemed very upset about a small cut in the female's arm. A tiny cut, infinitesimal compared to the wounds their people had suffered. She waved off their concern, but they persisted. It rankled that they cared so much about something so small, yet overlooked the suffering of the Outlanders.

There was discussion that involved something that made their Outlander brother irritated, but he submitted to the will of the humans with a wave of his hands and a nod. Submitted to their desires and betrayed his people with such simple a gesture.

Once the discussion was over, the Outlander returned to the tents, heading back the way he had come. As he did, he passed by another Outlander, a scarred creature that was almost as big as he, but not quite. They stared at one another, challenge hovering in the air, before the larger Outlander continued on his way silently after tasting the air with his antennae.

Of all the Outlanders, he was one of the ones that would never have been expected to submit, but it had been seen, and it was irrefutable.

Traitor.

The watching Outlander returned his gaze to the humans who had already retreated to their tents, a tiny female treating the arm of the taller female, all of the engaged into active conversation. They claimed they were doctors. Claimed they were here to help. He had watched the female, watched the traitor take her into the depths of District 10 and show her their wounded brothers.

Of all the Outlanders…

It didn't matter to them what promises the humans made. It didn't matter to them what the humans said. Whenever MNU opened its mouth, lies spilled forth. They couldn't be trusted. Couldn't be believed.

The only thing MNU understood was that which they best dealt.

Violence and death.

This would be no different. Not if they didn't act. But they would. They would send a message to MNU. They would no longer tolerate their abuse.

It was time for retribution.

Slowly the watching Outlander rose to his feet, ignoring one of the armed humans that watched him warily. The mass of MNU trucks and fighters had retreated, leaving only the small group of humans to protect the doctors.

They were inviting their wrath. Now they would know what it felt like to be helpless in the face of their deaths. In the face of the deaths of one another, unable to act, unable to defend each other.

Listening to their screams as they died, knowing no one would ever help them.

The humans called him Adam. Called him that meaningless set of sounds as they dragged him from his home. As they beat him horrifically. As they burned his egg before it could hatch, slaughtering the youngling inside. Held him down as his youngling shrieked in pain as it cooked in the protective shell that it was supposed to grow inside.

Then they had left him there, in the dirt, left with the charred remains of his home. Of his progeny. Broken. Shattered.

They had butchered his child as he watched, uncaring about his grief. They had laughed, taunted him, they had been amused at his distress. Never would any Outlander do such a despicable act. The younglings were to be protected, even if they were not your own. Cared for. Who knew if you had contributed to their existence somehow? They were the future of their kind.

And humans had butchered his one and only attempt for comfort on their hellish planet right in front of him, kindling an emotion that he was unfamiliar with, a festering sickness in his chest that spread to his mind and corrupted him, twisted him and made him more and more like them.

All they knew was violence and death, and so he would give it to them.

He wanted _vengeance_.

But his reasons for hating the humans so intensely was another reason why he couldn't understand why the one they called Michael helped them. Oh, he was well known amongst their kind. Well known indeed, a powerful leader and fighter. Much like the one that had left all those months ago, carrying their hopes and dreams for liberation and salvation.

To see him cooperating with the humans…

No. But he would see. He would see…

No more submitting. No more subjugation. It was time for human blood to flow…

He returned to his fellows, a group of Outlanders crouched amongst the tents, hidden from sight. One of them was shooing away a persistent youngling, which didn't stray too far. It shied away when it saw him, however, cowering behind a tent and watching. But he paid it little heed.

Instead, he stared at each of his fellow Outlanders and revolutionists with his one remaining eye, the other stolen by horrific scarring that distorted the upper half of his face and stole one of his antennae. A constant reminder of the day his child was stolen from him. Crippled outside, crippled within.

Only half of what he was. A shell, a shadow.

What they made him.

He knew all too well that humans could never, ever be trusted.

Michael might be willing to forget past hurts, but he was _not_.

"**Tonight.**"

~*~

* * *

_Dun dun dun… Cliffhanger. This will hardly be the worst to come._

_Lots of Outlanders in this chapter. I hope I didn't confuse you with them. But I have finally worked out where the story is going except for the tiny details. Every now and again, I'll put a 'Re-read advised', which means I've slipped 'clues' here and there to hint towards the climax or towards a plot point. It's to assist those that are simply reading chapter by chapter. I hope no one is disappointed with the outcome. I might have to change the summary, but it could also stay._

_I apologize for the long delay between chapters. I've had three assignments due at university this week, and by the end of them, my fingers are quite sore from typing/ writing, and my creativity is next to nill. But the reviews are the things that keep me going, people that tell me that they enjoyed my story. The people that give me confidence in myself._

_Thank you, to all the readers, and now to those reviewers to whom I dedicate this chapter and all chapters to come._

_**Herr Wozzeck**__: I believe I've sort of glossed over MNU's reactions, but as you can see the first part of this chapter is dedicated to an ominous conversation between an MNU representative and Meghan Hall, leader of the goodwill expedition. MNU is not the only one playing their cards close to their chests._

_And yes, I watched _Alive in Johannesburg_, and whilst it wasn't the best sort of movie out, for the time period, for the making, it was pretty good, and it birthed _District 9_, for which I am eternally glad. People will be talking about the movie for a long time._

_As for Wikus? He was an ass. Will he be a redeemed ass? We'll find out. By the way, he was in this chapter. Did you see him?_

_**Mistah Eleganzah**__: If you want to scoop up the Prawns, feel free! They need a lot of TLC, and hopefully they'll be getting some, soon enough. There are plenty of people in the world, it seems, who would be more than happy to help their plight. It's not unlikely that, in the fictional world, that these doctors are the only ones that want to help, as well. But where will that go? Maybe we'll see._

_Thank you for your compliments, too. I sometimes get nervous about how the characters interact, especially creatures that would have a natural hesitance or dislike, such as Prawns. I hope their interactions are believable, and I hope their growing friendships will be, as well._

_**Gira**__: I'm glad the surprise was a good one! I can only hope that I continue to deliver! Don't get your expectations too high, though! I don't want to disappoint._

_**Crazikido:**__ If you think the last chapter had a bad cliffhanger, you're going to __**hate**__ me before this fic is over._

_**Antidaeophobia**__: Here it is! I hope it wasn't disappointing._

_**Personatus**__: I can't thank you enough for persevering past Chelsea's physical description. She's not supposed to be a goddess, but a woman who takes care of herself with a proper diet and strict exercise. She's not just naturally that way. The only thing that she naturally has going for her is her heterochromia, but I just had to put that in. It also helps the Prawns to distinguish her from the other humans who, to them, all look the same._

_**Exalted**__: Chelsea has had an interesting past, and you know some of it now. I'm debating whether or not you will know everything, or whether or not you'll just know something happened. But either way, she redefines interesting, I suppose. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

_**Writers Apprentice**__: Thank you for your kind words! Just in time, too. When I received your review, I had just finished the chapter. Or, almost. Your review kicked me over the finishing line._

_The story will begin slowly, very slowly, likely, and it will be very long, but hopefully everyone will like the climax. I just hope it won't come out of nowhere for everyone! There's a lot of characters and a lot of roles, but the focus is on Chelsea, Michael and one other character, mostly. But the secondary characters do play an important part._

_And Wikus was in this chapter! Time to play 'spot the alien mutation'! Don't worry. He'll come back, with his foul mouth and his prejudiced ways. That ass. Heh!_

_As always, if you read this chapter and loved it, please leave a quick review! It's what helps the next chapter come all that quicker. I hope it wasn't too long for you, and I hope the pace keeps you interested._

_Creative criticism is always welcome. Shred my work and help me improve! Seems I don't have to worry about flames, which is wonderful, but if they appear, I'll toast marshmallows over them with Michael._

_He says hi, by the way._

_Regards_

_Anne_


	6. Ch 5: Shards of Innocence

**Rewrite notice**: Mistah Eleganzah pointed out that Adam, the scarred Prawn from the last chapter, might need more grounding. I've re-written most of his introduction. I recommend you go back and read that portion of Chapter 4. I apologize for the inconvenience.

I have also re-written the prologue. For those of you that have read the previous version, I hope you'll go see the new one and tell me what you think.

* * *

~*~

**Chapter 5**

Shards of Innocence

"Graham, the next time you lift something for me, I'm going to tie you into a bow and send you back to America."

"You're injured."

"It's a scratch. And if your next excuse is 'men do the heavy lifting', it won't be your _whole_ body I tie into a bow."

"Ouh, below the belt."

"Damn right."

Graham grinned as he lowered the crate onto the back of the truck, turning to look at the tall, bronze woman that he had lifted it from. It wasn't very heavy, and he hadn't removed it from her possession because she was female, or because of the bandaged injury on her forearm, or the bruise darkening her forehead.

He had done it for the irate expression she was presenting him with at that moment.

She was highly entertaining to provoke.

Callum thought he was suicidal, obviously, by the way he was inching around to put the truck between himself and Chelsea. The other doctors, however, had gotten used to their back and forth banter and threats and mostly ignored them.

Two of the med techs were betting whether or not Chelsea would clean his clock, though.

"Gotta catch me, first," Graham said, grinning.

"Gotta sleep some time, Yank," she retorted with half hearted venom. Half hearted because she genuinely liked Graham and his antics, because she knew he was comfortable enough around her to do so.

But it was also because of the fact that she was so deliriously happy she felt like her head would start floating, dragging her body with it.

Initially hesitant, Michael had finally acquiesced to her request – or, rather demand – that the doctors be allowed to do their job and tend the wounded Prawns. Their argument back to the encampment had been vehement, but by the time she had crossed through the last tents, he had realized that human females could not be defeated when they sank their heels in, no matter how strong his alien strength might be.

Convincing the doctors themselves had been even easier. Upon hearing Chelsea's report about the tent of wounded whilst Natalie tended to her arm, and the seven others scattered throughout District 10, Meghan had made an executive decision; the three vehicles that the MNU had left behind for the doctors to use would be loaded with medical supplies and two doctors would be left at each of the tent, with an accompanying retinue of three armed guards and three medical technicians.

Anyone that wasn't willing to do the job they had all come to do was to pack their bags and go home the next day.

No one had.

For the rest of the day and well into the night, Chelsea had described the conditions within and they had planned for every eventuality. When she had told them that the injuries they were to expect were the cause of physical abuse and violence, and not sickness or accidents, everyone had been somewhat rattled.

It was one thing to _hear_ about what MNU had done to them, but the sheer depravity of the sadistic abuse that the Prawns, preparing to treat it, preparing to see it, was another thing entirely. It was clear that what Chelsea had seen had left a mark on her, a mark she was desperately trying to forget until she had to see them again, embracing a moment of light before descending into hell once more.

But, as Natalie pointed out, the Prawns had been suffering twenty eight years of it. They had no salvation. They had no reprieve.

It was no wonder they hadn't trusted the doctors when they had arrived.

Once they had finished packing the trucks with their equipment, Meghan had promptly put in a restocking call to MNU, with a demand that their supplies arrive within the next two days. MNU had enough of their fingers in hospitals that they could rustle up high priority organs if they really wanted to, so bringing them enough gauze and suture material to treat the Prawns in their own goodwill effort would hardly be difficult.

If they knew what was good for them, that was.

Graham jumped down from the truck, tossing the tarp over the medical supplies and securing them firmly. They had decided to finish loading up everything that didn't need to be refrigerated that night, so they could move out as soon as Michael came for them the next day.

He had promised to bring others, who would guide the doctors to the other tents of wounded. The wounded in the tent, he had claimed, would be theirs to treat. The ones that still milled about District 10, they were on their own to find.

"Alright, that's everything," said Meghan. "Eat up and get a good night's rest. We're gonna need it."

Chelsea made a sound of emphatic agreement as the doctors and their MNU guards walked to the mess tent to get some food before bed. Graham slapped Chelsea's shoulder as he walked past, moving to the showers first. When he didn't hear Chelsea's boots behind him, he stopped and looked back with a scowl.

"Chelsea?"

She glanced over her shoulder slightly, and then turned to look at the tents once more. "Twenty eight years…" Her voice was quiet as Graham approached her. "Almost twenty nine. Almost _thirty_ fucking years, Graham, they've been suffering all of this." She shook her head, eyes wide with incredulity. "That's almost as long as I've been alive, and I've… It was only five years ago that tragedy hit me, and I felt like those five years stretched forever. I can't imagine thirty years of it…"

Graham glanced down at her wrists, at the scars from her suicide attempt that were visible for all the world to see. Then he lifted his eyes to look at the back of her head. He had read her profile. He hadn't been allowed to, but that hadn't stopped him.

A part of him wanted to hold her close and protect her from the world, keep her safe from everyone and everything and make sure that nothing ever hurt her again.

Another part of him wondered exactly what her motives for joining the Doctors Without Borders, for volunteering for District 10, really were.

He switched his attention to the tents as well, sighing, "Don't think about it, Chelsea. You can't change the past." He grimaced as he realized how many times she must have heard _that_. "What I mean is… We're here now. And we can make a difference. I know we can." He knew _she_ could. If anyone could give hope to a race without any…

She turned and flashed him a bittersweet smile that tore at his heart to see, "Thanks." Her boots scraped along the ground, "Just makes me wonder, you know?"

"What?"

"How much longer would it have taken, before they declared war on us?"

Graham glanced behind him, then pursed his lips, "Don't know. But I'm damn glad they haven't. Going off reports of their weaponry, if they had tried… I'm not sure we would have won…"

~*~

Darkness had descended over the human encampment long ago, and the last of the lights in the tents had been out for some time.

In the darkness out of the sight of the MNU guards that were watching for any movement quite attentively, a scarred Prawn shifted slightly, checking the air with his antennae. Able to see beyond actual sight, he knew that his brothers were in position. Now all they had to do was wait.

It was too dark for the humans to see comfortably, their single moon little more than a sliver of light in the sky. The humans compensated with their dirty yellow torches, the circular halos of illumination giving away their location constantly.

Humans relied on sight so readily, the most dominant of their limited senses, that to remove it from them completely left them entirely useless. Touch, taste, hearing, smell, remove any of those and they could still function in a manner that was necessary for self preservation.

But the moment the darkness fell, they were helpless.

The Outlanders, on the other hand, were not. Their primary perception was sight, true, but their secondary perception, scent and a greater awareness, went beyond that of a human's, to the point that they could easily substitute one for the other, as they did on this black night.

They could have been deposited anywhere in District 10, blindfolded with their hands tied and their mouthparts covered, but as long as they retained their antennae, they could find their way back to their 'home' and territory without a single concern.

Their main antennae could taste the pheromones in the air, able to sense which direction various objects lay in. Any living creature that emitted any sort of pheromone was lit like a beacon in their perception. Anything that those creatures had brushed against recently also held pheramonal markers, and in a cramped, filthy place like District 10, the entire place was mapped out before them.

But more important than those antennae were the smaller, stiffer ones between them, that did not move by any force of will or physical touch. They did not scent pheromones, but were aware of their surroundings in a way that could not be explained to a race that did not possess the perception. Not in any simple way. Simply and crudely put, they could detect electrochemical impulses, as well as the absence of them. Whilst the longer antennae could scent pheromones, the inner ones could assist in differentiating between a living creature and a non living creature based on the electrochemical impulses given off by their bodies, able to tell the difference between something that is emitting pheromones and was simply recently brushed against. The outer antennae also helped to differentiate between the electrochemical impulses given off by living creatures and the slight impulses given off by, say, batteries or other such objects. A cross reference of information that meant that even without sight, Prawns could still 'see' perfectly.

Although _his_ vision was somewhat impaired, he would function with the crippling scarring, moving past it. He had more concerns than the ailments that humans had inflicted on him. One of his antennae might have been gone, but he had adjusted to the disorientating shift in the years since, but he would always retain the blind spot on his left side…

Suddenly one of the guards turned when a distraction was caused on cue, and he ran off in that direction, to where to Prawns were tussling over a tyre they were trying to rip from one of the vehicles. With perfect coordination, another distraction was caused when some Prawns got too close to the camp, causing two guards to chase them off.

As soon as he knew that they were acting out their tasks, he shot forward, followed by another of his brothers, into the camp. A blur in the darkness, unseen against the night. They did not have much time to enact their plan, not much time before the guards came back, but if it went too long they might open fire, or think something was wrong.

It was a delicate, finite balance between distraction and death.

Humans believed that Prawns were unintelligent, which was not true. They were highly intelligent, but they required guidance. For those humans that believed that that their kind were 'workers', drones, lost without their queen, it was almost right. Their race did not have 'queens'. But those of higher intelligence would lead. The ones that could think about cause and effect. The ones that thought of consequences, could plan ahead. They were the leaders, they governed their people, their fellows.

But they did not take advantage of them. They offered guidance and took care of their brothers. Their intelligence did not make them superior.

It made them responsible.

As _he_ was responsible for them, now.

His feet came down in front of the tent he had seen the human vanish into. Their target. The female that had walked through their homes and saw their wounded. The one that had thought to touch them. She had to be eliminated. She would work herself under their skin and rip herself free in a spray of blood, taking lives as easily as she took breath.

She could not be allowed to continue hurting his people.

He had responsibilities…

Reaching out, he grasped the tent flap and slipped soundlessly inside.

Too easy…

~*~

Michael came awake instantly when someone entered his tent, crashing through his belongings to practically leap onto his face. Staggering to his feet in surprise, he fell over backwards when he tripped over something, collapsing onto his back, flailing insanely.

"**What the**?!"

The youngling landed on his chest, grabbing the sides of his face to lean over him with wide eyes.

"**Wake up**!"

Redundant. He was awake. As he rolled to his feet, the youngling clung to him like the eight legged creatures that populated their homes, climbing up his body agilely. Catching his ankle on the third try, Michael finally made his way to the entrance of his tent.

"**I have food for you. Calm down.**" He knew the youngling was without a parent. He didn't know what happened to him, but all that mattered was that he was gone now. He sat the youngling down at the front of his tent, sighing. Reluctantly, he reached out and caught a can of cat food from a box, crouching down to hand it to the child.

Amazingly, he looked at it, then smacked the can aside.

"**I'm not here for food! They're going to kill the humans**!"

Instantly Michael was alert, his antennae snapping up as his eyes widened, "**What? Who**?"

"**Them. The gang ones. They're going to attack the human camp tonight. I heard them! It took me so long to find you, but since you were with the female one, I thought you might protect her**!"

"**The female**?"

"**The one with odd eyes! The one who gave me food today! They're going to kill **_**her**_** and send her **_**head**_** back to MNU!**"

Michael was out of the tent before the youngling had even finished, running through the tents until they were blurs in his perception. He cared nothing of the Outlanders that were scavenging even at that hour, leaping over one or two that got in his way, skidding around corners as he raced to save a human.

A human female with scarred flesh and different coloured eyes. A human female that had walked alone into District 10 to show she trusted an Outlander. Who had endured scorn, hate and violence to _help_ them. Who had lifted her chin in the face of fear, admitted to it, and continued on despite it.

A brave little human whose name he didn't even know…

A human that would die because she trusted him. Because he had wanted to trust her.

No… Not if he could help it…

He would not allow her trust to be betrayed.

He was, after all, not a human.

~*~

Chelsea came awake to the sensation of someone leaning over her and she exhaled into her pillow. "You're shitting me. It's not morning, is it?" It felt like she'd been asleep for twenty minutes. Pushing her arms into her bed, she shoved herself up, scowling at the darkness around her.

"I thought we were getting up at da…" Her words were choked off when she almost kissed the Prawn leaning over her, her eyes widening at his scarred face, staring at the twisted remains of his left eye and the hatred in his right.

"Oh m-"

His hand curled around her head, covering her mouth squeezing painfully and Chelsea instantly launched into fight mode. Before she could hit him, however, his other hand seized both of her wrists in a way that was humiliatingly easy. He didn't even seem to register her struggles as he ripped her from the bed, hauling her out of her tent.

Her screams were muffled against his hand and she tried to bite him, but even that didn't faze him.

He clattered something quietly and another Prawn appeared, wrapping his arms around her ankles and tucking them into his side.

Chelsea's struggles, however, only increased as they carried her swiftly across the ground, down the slight hill, across the road and into the tents. Her eyes grew painfully wide as she twisted and writhed, aware that she would have bruises but unable to care beyond the fear that choked her.

There was only one reason she could think of that Prawns would kidnap her in the dead of night.

They were going to kill her. No matter what else they did, no matter how they did it, the bottom line was that they were going to kill her.

Four years ago, she would have submitted into the arms of Death willingly, maybe even happily, but now, knowing what she did, the thought of dying at that moment was beyond terrifying.

She managed to twist one of her hands free, grabbing one of the Prawn's legs and wrenching hard. Knocked off balance, the three of them toppled to the ground and she grunted as she landed, throwing herself into a roll as soon as she did.

Barely clad, the dirt and debris under her cut into her hands and knees as she tried to push herself back to her feet, but before she got halfway something slammed into her back, a hand cupping the back of her head and smacking it into the ground. The bruise on her forehead was what hit the ground and it added an extra spice of agony to the blow, leaving her reeling, unable to mount a defence as it walked over to her.

A hand grabbed her arm and hauled her up and back, wrenching her shoulder painfully. She let out a muffled sound of pain as she went sprawling on her back. It choked off halfway when a hand grabbed her throat, pulling her forward and up, making her scramble to keep her balance.

Whatever he was saying, she couldn't understand. She caught snippets here and there, but beyond the ringing of her ears, it was simply incoherent alien speech. Then again, if he had been speaking English, she probably wouldn't have understood that, either.

She felt the burns of cuts and abrasions on her knees, forearms, hands and upper back, and a warm trickle down her face that was definitely blood. She was battered and bleeding and about to die. She couldn't even muster up any defiance as the Prawn holding her throat began to squeeze harder, like he was trying to pop her head off.

Chelsea's feet kicked at the ground as she tried to get away, clawing and beating at his hands vainly.

The world dimmed and she could hear her heart beating frantically in her ears. She blinked out for a moment…

Suddenly Chelsea was released and she crumpled to the ground as she wheezed in a sharp breath without thinking, her lungs moving instinctively once her subconscious mind registered that she was free.

Something descended over her and she curled up tightly in a ball as Prawn feet stamped around her, one catching her in the back and making her yelp in pain.

Suddenly the motion stopped and she lifted her head, shivering with fear when she made out the form of a Prawn crouched over her in the darkness, his back to her. To say she was confused was beyond an understatement, but it was too dark for her to see anything more than outlines against the tents, to dark to see anything more than incoherent shapes. But then the Prawn backed up and she could make out his ankles, wrapped in cloth, leading to legs that were larger and more powerful.

Arms that had spikes on them that looked more intimidating.

_No way_…

Her Prawn. Her guide.

"Wha…" Suddenly her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she could see the rest of him. Sort of…

Yes, it was him…

He glanced at her, large eyes blinking before they narrowed, antennae twitching slowly as he took in her body, taking in her wounds. Then he turned and looked at the other Prawns, extending one arm to shield her further.

_He was protecting her_…

Her Prawn and her attacker engaged in an argument that she couldn't begin to understand, with the scarred one gesturing to her angrily, making the large Prawn step before her more firmly. The scarred one reared back as if shot, shouting something that made her Prawn flinch, but retort heatedly.

Sobbing, tears on her cheeks and terrified at how close to death she had come, Chelsea pressed her hands to the dirt and crawled backwards, trembling violently. She left bloody dirt behind and felt grit digging deeper into the abrasions that burned on her hands.

Her withdrawal was cut short with a scream as one of the Prawns shot forward, smashing into her guide. Amazingly, he managed to keep on his feet, until another two hit him, of course. Then they all went sprawling near her in a mass of limbs and guttural snarls.

But that left the way clear for the scarred Prawn, who was staring at her with a sense of hate that was almost palpable. His mouthparts twitched as he approached her, his steps methodical and slow, his head canted down in a blatantly predatory manner.

"Oh god…" Chelsea dug her hands into the ground, trying to crawl away faster. She didn't want to turn, terrified of putting her back to him as she moved. "Oh god. Please. Please!"

Suddenly a young Prawn leaped out of nowhere, landing on his back and grabbing one of his antennae. Chelsea's eyes widened as the scarred one flailed insanely, arms lashing before him as he staggered backwards. Reaching back, he wrapped his hand around the young Prawn's torso, lifted him and tossed him to the ground.

Both Chelsea and the scarred Prawn were amazed by the violent act, neither of them expecting it to happen, apparently, even the one that had enacted it.

The young Prawn bounced once and, amazingly, rolled to his feet with a resilience that Chelsea would later marvel about, scampering over to her. Chelsea reached out and, without thinking, grabbed him, hugging him to her chest. She cupped his head with her hand, shielding him from the scarred Prawn, who watched them in silence.

Movement behind him made them all look as the massive Prawn staggered to his feet, the other Prawns either crawling away or clutching beaten faces or chests. He, himself, was bleeding heavily, especially from his head and what looked like a bite wound on his arm, but he looked as strong as ever as he stared the scarred Prawn down.

The scarred on made a snarling sound, snapping something that she didn't understand, before he turned and loped off into the darkness.

Her Prawn watched him go in silence, using his foot to nudge aside a Prawn that was crawling off, encouraging him to move faster as he approached Chelsea with an easy gait, despite his wounds. He stopped, however, when she shied away, whimpering, lowering the hand that had been cupping his upper chest, where a wound rested. His shoulders lifted in a deep inhalation, his brows drawing together and lifting, his head cocking to the side as he took in her reaction.

She was afraid of him. That was painfully obvious. He had put himself in harm's way to save her and all she could do was cower, trembling on the ground before him.

His head lowered slightly and he shook it slowly, exhaling as the maxillae on his face twitched faintly.

In her fear, Chelsea didn't realize how tightly she was holding the youngling until he made a muffled sound of complaint. Startled, she glanced down, before relaxing her arms. Showing no signs of wear, he hopped to the ground, tilting his head as he turned to look up at her. Putting his hand on her arm, he pointed at her face, tilting his head the other way. He spoke, but his young voice made it hard for her to decipher.

"Wh… what…?"

The large Prawn moved to her, kneeling down before her, but making sure he was well out of arm's reach.

"**He said you're bleeding.**"

Chelsea's hand flew up to her head, but she stopped before she could touch her head wound, not wanting to get dirt in it.

"He dropped me on my head," she whispered mostly to herself, scowling.

When the Prawn took another step, she started, eyes flying to him. The pained look was gone, however, and he crouched down before her in a way only Prawns could.

"**Come. I will get you back to your people…**"

When he reached for her slowly, she forced herself not to shy away, well aware of the strength he now held, strength that could hold her down easily, subdue her. She was a woman that prided herself on her physical fitness, a woman that knew how to defend herself, and she had just been rendered completely helpless by them.

Before his hands could touch her, however, he stopped, his eyes sliding away from her face and to her torso. Chelsea followed his gaze, and then stiffened, grasping the hem of her shirt and shoving it down over the mass of scarring that was her stomach, shielding it from his sight.

She didn't know why she was suddenly ashamed of them. She never had been before. She had never seen a point in it. After all, she was just wearing sports shorts and a tank top, not exactly concealing things. Granted she had been sleeping but…

Seemingly aware of her reluctance, he hesitated, and then reached for her again. Grasping her under the arms, he eased her to her feet slowly, and she hid her grimace as her battered toes and heels scraped on the ground.

Suddenly, in a dizzying gesture, he scooped her up in his arms, holding her carefully against him. It was strange, being held in alien arms, against an alien chest. She felt his abdominal arms twitching against her side.

"I-I can walk," she whispered.

He glanced at her, his face now very close to hers. She was fascinated with his mouthparts, her curious mind wanting to explore them, but she kept her battered hands against her chest.

"**I can carry you**," he responded calmly, slowly. "**Your feet are damaged.**"

She glanced at them, curling her toes as if that would hide the evidence of her wounds, before scowling. She felt him walk forward, keeping her gaze on her knees as he moved carefully but evenly, despite his own wounds. She glanced at the one on his shoulder, now close to her knee.

"Why… why did you save me?"

He didn't seem like he was going to answer her, before he said softly, "**You trusted me. You gave me your trust. You placed yourself in my care. I couldn't let that trust be betrayed.**"

"After what humans have done to your people, you had every reason just to let me die."

"**No. I didn't. You have not done anything wrong to me. I was wrong in blaming you.**"

"No," she retorted. "You weren't. What… humans have done to you is wrong. Very wrong… We never should have treated you the way you are being treated."

She felt him looking at her, but didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she scrubbed at her cheeks, humiliated from her earlier tears and fear.

"**The fact that you acknowledge that means you are not like other humans at all.**"

Her eyes lifted to his, before a tiny smile graced her face. After a moment, his eyes gentled and his mouthparts shifted in what she assumed was a Prawn smile.

When they approached the camp, Chelsea advised that he put her down. He had at her insistence, but made sure to keep the pressure off of her 'soft, useless feet'.

Apparently her disappearance had gone unnoticed, because when the MNU guards finally lowered their weapons, their faces were expressions of shock.

"Ms Grant!"

"Did he hurt you?"

"Fucking Prawn! Step the fuck away!"

She heard him sigh against her – noting that the sound did not come from his head, but from his shoulder - and his hands slowly slackened on her arms as he made to step back. Instead of letting him, she reached out and grabbed his wrist, glaring at the MNU officers as she wiped blood from her face with her free hand.

"I am alright. It wasn't him. Can you please wake up one or two of the other doctors." She gestured over to the medical tent, sighing, "This way." He hesitated, glancing at the armed men, obviously wary. Gently, she tugged his wrist, getting his attention again. "No one is going to hurt you. Come on. Lets take care of your wounds."

He exhaled again, before following behind her slowly, "**They are not serious.**"

"Indulge me." She picked her way carefully to the tent, grimacing so much that eventually he quickened his pace to catch up with her, holding her and taking the weight off her feet.

"Thank you." She hesitated, before glancing at him askance. "How… did you know where I was?"

"**I told him**."

She glanced at the child. Had she really not noticed he had been with them the entire time, skipping along beside them happily? Apparently. "You did?"

"**He came and woke me.**" Her guide sat her on one of the medical benches and stepped back, blinking as he spoke. "**And I came as fast as I could. I am sorry you were hurt…**" He glanced at her body and she shook her head, pulling some medical things closer.

She ran some hot water and added disinfectant, beginning to clean her hands carefully, biting back sounds of pain, "You saved my life. A few cuts and scrapes are nothing." She looked at his torso, "Besides, it's not like you didn't suffer for me. A human." She added the last bit against her will, scowling.

"**An unusual human.**" He glanced off to one side, exhaling. "**We should go.**"

"But your wounds!" She was off the bench before she could think, and she sucked in a sharp breath of pain as she landed on her scuffed feet. "Ah!"

He reached out and caught her carefully, lifting her, "**I have been wounded many times. I will survive.**"

She reached out to grab his wrist, "We're doctors. We tend to the wounded. Even minor wounds."

He jerked his hand free, his temper flaring, "**You cannot make up for thirty years of suffering. Not if you take care of every single one of our kind.**"

"I know that," she snapped. "But at least we're trying!"

"**And eventually you'll give up, and leave us to rot. Just like all other humans. What are you really here for?**" He turned to face her, rising up to his full height.

Chelsea was suddenly reminded of the Prawns that had attacked her and shied away, sucking in a shaking breath.

"We're here to help you," she said unsteadily. "Whether you like it or not."

"**Unwelcome help is not help. It's just another form of subjugation.**"

She flinched as she realized the truth of his words, scowling, "We're not trying to force it on you…"

"**We never asked for help**," he snapped, waving his hand. "**We never asked for any of you to come here. And yet you did, putting yourselves in danger. Getting wounded.**" He pointed at her head, which was still bleeding. "**If you die, MNU will use it as an excuse to butcher us all. Don't think I don't comprehend that.**" Chelsea was having a hard time comprehending _him_ as he spoke faster with his rage, but she got the gist of his wording. "**You come here in peace, but if you leave in pieces, MNU will just use it to their advantage. So we're left without choices once more. You'll stay until we accept you, or until you die. We have no chance to say 'no'. We never have**!"

"Do you want to say no?" she whispered, horrified at the insensitivity of humans. So much so that they felt that an act of goodwill was simply another form of humans showing dominance. "We just want to help you. We just… we want to ease what humans have done to you."

"_**Nothing**_** can make up for that which is lost. **_**Nothing**_**. You humans don't know what it's like to lose everything, and simply have someone else force what they believe to be 'good' on you, and wait for you to accept it, whether you want it or not!**"

"Yes I do!"

"**Please don't fight…**"

Both of them started, glancing down at the youngling who was staring up at them with wide eyes.

"**Please don't fight**!" he insisted again. He moved over to the Prawn and patted his leg. Whatever else he said was lost to his quiet, infantile voice, but the adault Prawn seemed to understand.

He didn't like it, though.

Turning, he went to leave the tent, before scowling angrily and jerking back at what he saw. The doctors, med techs and MNU officers were gathered at the entrance, watching the scene in silence.

He tilted his head, scowling faintly, before he reached up to touch the cut on her face, over the bruise. Before he could make contact, there was movement at the entrance of the tent and both of them turned, a wide eyed youngling between them shifting his gaze to stare at the humans gathered at the mouth of the tent.

He looked at the youngling, scowling, "**Let's go.**"

The young Prawn shook his head and hugged Chelsea's calf. "**Staying.**"

The elder made a gesture, insisting that the child leave with him.

"He'll be alright," said Chelsea quietly. "We won't hurt him."

Amazingly, he seemed to sneer at her words, and then whirled. He let out one of his rattling sounds and strode through them, careful not to touch any of them in any way that might be interpreted as aggressive. It didn't matter, because most of them gave him a wide berth as he strode away, heading out into the dark.

As one, they turned to look at the battered Chelsea, who was staring after him with a miserable expression.

"What the fuck was that?" whispered Graham.

Her mismatched eyes switched to his, and then she glanced down at the child at her feet. Reaching down, she picked him up carefully and sat him on one of the benches. Unlike the elder, he seemed to be unafraid of them, a sort of child-like innocence that she had seen in many children, who against all odds should be beyond miserable, but greeted each new day with a smile and wide, curious eyes.

It put one's problems in perspective.

"That," she said softly, "was the result of shattered innocence." She closed her eyes, then turned her head when a hand grasped her chin. She stared into Graham's concerned eyes.

"What happened to you? Did he hurt you?"

"No," she said calmly, patiently. "He saved me."

She felt the young Prawn hug her arm and she tugged him gently into her lap, putting his hand on his back. He also served as a living shield between the scars on her stomach, hidden by her shirt, and the prying eyes of the humans around her. Meghan chased away most of them to get a few more hours of sleep, before she, Callum and Natalie entered the tent to take care of Chelsea's wounds.

Meghan stared at her with eyes devoid of emotion, carefully blank.

"Chelsea. If you want to leave, I'll understand."

One blue eye and one green eye glanced at her as Graham wiped away the blood, and then she looked down at the young one in her lap, her chest tightening as he stared back at her.

"Didn't even think it."

~*~

* * *

_Now, they were actually supposed to get to tending the wounded Prawns in this chapter, but it was starting to stretch so I cut that short._

_I now believe that this will be a __**long**__ fanfiction, so I hope you'll all bear with me. The fiction is actually supposed to be set out over a period of 16 months or so. The start will be __**very**__ slow, but the climax will hit hard and fast, and I hope none of you are disappointed by it. I can't have a story without some action, violence, tears and blood (as you've seen!), and this fiction will deliver._

_Hopefully._

_I know I'm taking a long time to introduce the characters, so I'm going to throw it up here quickly:_

_Central characters:_

_Chelsea Grant – Human doctor._

_Michael – Large Prawn 'soldier class'._

_Alexander – Young Prawn that has yet to be named. (He's middle-central, but he's important to both Chelsea and Michael's story and the story overall.)_

_Secondary characters:_

_Graham_

_Meghan_

_Callum_

_Natalie_

_Adam (Aka Scarred Prawn/Scarred One)_

_Anna (Prawn Doc/physician)_

_More to come._

_Hope that's not confusing for you!_

_And now, on to the reviews, because I love you guys lots. You help this fiction become better._

_**Herr Wozzek**__: Yep! That's him! Poor Wikus. I, personally, thought he was a total asshole in the movie, but I see his transition to Prawn (and hopefully back again) as being a character defining moment for him. By the way, his hand is badly infected. I think he needs a doctor's appointment!_

_**Writer's Apprentice**__: I'm glad you like long chapters, because something tells me they're just going to get longer and longer. I hope people don't get bored with them! And yes, MNU is full of lies and bullshit. But hopefully the doctors can clear the air. I have some ideas for gushy human-alien relation building moments. Hope no one gags on the warm and fluffy feelings! I'm glad you like Chelsea. I deliberately made her so she would be alienated from humans and able to sympathise with Prawns. She's not doing this just because she's idealistic, she's doing it because she does understand what it's like to be without hope, and wants to give it to the Prawns. Here's hoping she succeeds!_

_**Amaruk Wolfheart of the Wraith**__: Not at all! I'm just glad you reviewed! It's good to have you on board and I'm elated that you like my fanfiction! And yep, that was Wikus. He'll be in the next chapter. Was supposed to be in this one, but it got too long! Hope you liked it!_

_**Gira**__: Yes! That is! I'm going to be tweaking the storyline a bit. In the movie he made the rose when he was in District 9, but since they were relocated quite soon after the events of the film (in my fic, the relocation happened in the next couple of weeks) he never got a chance to get the rose to Tania. But I'm going to make sure she gets it! And thank you for your compliments! I hope I don't disappoint you._

_**Mistah Eleganza**__: Thank you for your suggestion! I'm always looking to improve my writing! I hope the re-write makes things work better! When starting this fic, I have to admit I was worried about the level of support for the doctors and what they are doing, but after reading the reviews, I feel safe in what will come when they reach out to the world. I just hope I can pull it off with believability! And I'm glad I'm making the interactions work. I don't know about this chapter, though. It feels strange to me, but I don't know how to improve it. Help me, if you can?_

_Thank you for reading my fiction! As always, everyone, creative criticism is welcome. If you liked the chapter, please let me know. If you found something that is wrong or could be improved, tell me. Hell, go ahead and flame if you want. I need a good laugh these days._

_Regards_

_Anne_


	7. Ch 6: The Bitter Truth

**Warning:** Long, slow chapter. Some angst. Some incoherency on the author's behalf.

**Apologies**: Sorry for the wait. I really am.

* * *

~*~

**Chapter 6:**

The Bitter Truth

~*~

"Easy… easy…"

The Outlander grasped Chelsea's wrist with a weakness that twisted her stomach as she held the water bottle to its mouth. Her other arm was behind its head, supporting it against her shoulder as it drank in tiny sips. Its maxillae brushed over her hand, the tentacles caressing as if reassuring itself that she was still there as it drank, the points of the small leg like appendages quite sharp on her skin but not piercing.

Finally it turned its head away and she tipped the bottle up so that it didn't spill onto its chest, lowering it to her side, where it was taken from her, freeing her hand to lower the Outlander back to the bed carefully, so as not to jar his wounds, which were freshly bandaged and stitched.

He muttered something unintelligible, turning his head away from her as he slipped from consciousness. Chelsea stepped back, swiping her hand over her brow, before looking down at her little 'assistant'.

The young Outlander smiled up at her, tightening the lid on the bottle, before scampering off to set it with the others. He had proven himself to be a highly intelligent and invaluable help to the human doctors, especially to Chelsea, to whom he had attached himself with admirable resilience. The only time he had left her side was when he had dozed off in the early hours whilst they were getting the trucks ready.

After Chelsea had been stitched and bandaged, she had decided that she wouldn't get any more sleep, so she had spent the rest of the wee hours of the morning getting to know 'Alexander', as he said his human name was. She was slowly beginning to comprehend his childish manner of speaking compared to the older members of his race. It was comparable to the manner in which a human child would speak compared to a human adult. Some words were pronounced differently, and some of them were in the wrong order. She was getting used to it.

However, despite her lack of understanding, he was entirely fluent in English, and had impeccable writing skills in penning the language. Her incredulity over his literary skills, however, was diminished when he told her that it was a requirement of MNU that all 'Outlanders' be fluent in English, written and spoken. But she couldn't deny how much she had benefitted from it. She and Alexander had sat for nearly two hours as the young Outlander helped her brush up on his language, on words that she was unfamiliar with. That was how Chelsea found out his human name, and how she found out what the aliens called themselves.

Outlanders.

In that moment of understanding, Chelsea swore never to refer to them as Prawns again.

In those hours, Alexander had exhibited an innocent joy that was both heart-warming and heartrending for Chelsea to watch. Though he seemed as happy as any human child, she knew from experience that very young children could bounce back from things that would tear an adult mind apart.

But despite whatever abuse Alexander had experienced at the hands of humans, he retained an innocence and bubbliness that was truly heart warming for Chelsea and all the other female doctors, who were entirely smitten with him. To his credit, Alexander adored the attention and had quickly gotten the knack of how to use his big eyes to his advantage in wrapping them all around his alien finger.

To Chelsea, spoiling him and any other Outlander child that came across her path was simply an obligation. Especially when Alexander had informed her, quite calmly, that he couldn't go home because his 'father' was 'gone'.

The factual and cold manner in which he stated that broke Chelsea's heart.

She hadn't asked any more, and he had been content to let the topic drop.

"How is he?"

Chelsea started violently with a feminine squeak of surprise which infinitely amused Graham.

Pulling her eyes away from his smirk, she glanced down at her patient, "Not good." She folded her fingers together, and then braced her hands on the table that the Outlander lay on. "We don't have the equipment needed to even diagnose what's wrong with him, let alone treat it. He must have some sort of internal infection or haemorrhaging or something, because externally I can't find anything."

She glanced over her shoulder at the man standing behind her without really looking at him, "He's dying, Graham."

"Thirty percent of the Pr…Outlanders," he amended quickly, "that I've seen today are dying, Chelsea. But we can make them comfortable as they go. It's the best we can do."

"No, dammit, it's _not_ the best we can do. We can do _better_. We're _doctors_, dammit!"

"This isn't a hospital, Chelsea," he said sharply. "This is a surgical tent on what might as well be a battle field. We don't have the resources. We save the ones we can save and we make comfortable the ones we can't. It's the _best_ we can do."

She looked away sharply, jaw working, "I can't accept that."

"Then don't. Keep fighting. Maybe you'll get us a three storey hospital with a full staff to tend to all of the Prawns. Outlanders. But for now, keep your head in the game, alright? You've worked Doctors Without Borders. You know when you can't save someone."

She waved her hand at the Outlander lying unconscious behind her, "I shouldn't have to save him, though! Humans did this to him, Graham! They beat him within an inch of his life! And now, months later, he's still clinging to it! And all we can do is fluff his pillow and pump him full of morphine?!"

"Yes." When she went to explode, Graham's hand snapped up. "You can't let your emotions get in the way of your thinking, Chelsea. You're a doctor and you need to be one. You're not their guardian angel and you're not their bloody mother. Go for a walk, clear your head, and come back when you can do your job properly."

"I can do my job properly!" Chelsea's words were a venomous hiss, enraged that Graham would dare suggest that she couldn't do what needed to be done.

"You've spent the last twenty minutes cleaning this guy and helping him drink, Chelsea. There are other people you could have helped in that time. So no, you're not thinking. Call me cold, if you want, but when you've been in a tent full of screaming, burned, bleeding soldiers missing limbs and half their faces, you can tell me what's what."

"How will going for a walk help then, then?"

"Stop _arguing_ with me, Chelsea," he snapped. "I am not your enemy here. I'm doing this for _your_ own good, too. If someone dies between you leaving and coming back, it'd be better than the dozen that might die if you _pass out_." He jerked his chin at the bandages on her head, "You remember what you agreed, yes?"

Chelsea's expression was mutinous as she vividly recalled the condition of her going out. Meghan had made her _promise_ to listen to Graham, and to not overtax herself. She knew, deep down, that Graham was only doing what was best for her, and that she was just being absurdly childish.

She also didn't want to risk Meghan prohibiting from coming out the next day.

"Take Alexander and just go have a breather," Graham gestured to the front of the tent, making a face. "Get some fresh air."

The Outlander youngling in question looked up at Chelsea, concerned, and she crouched down, extending her arm. With surprising strength, the young Outlander grasped her with all four limbs, and she lifted his light frame from the ground. He climbed onto her shirt and clutched at her as he watched Graham.

"Look after her, little man, okay?"

Alexander snapped the salute that he had learned from Graham just that morning as Chelsea took the bottle of water that Graham passed to her. With a dark mutter, she exited the tent, lifting her sunglasses and shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

"**You okay?**"

Chelsea smiled at Alexander, "I'm alright."

She cracked the water open and offered some to Alexander, who shook his head. Whilst he had accepted her friendliness as if it were natural, older Outlanders were still getting used to the fact that a human was willingly touching one of their kind. Many a time they had stopped and stared as Chelsea happily picked up Alexander, rubbed his head or laughed as he tugged on her leg to get her attention. He, however, thought nothing of it.

Amazing how a child's innocence could transcend fear, hate and prejudice. The innocence of their hearts unable to hold the animosity he deserved to feel.

Chelsea was infinitely grateful for Alexander.

She just wished Michael could have been more receptive.

Just thinking of the large Outlander made Chelsea's mood sour. He hadn't shown up for the morning to guide them to the medical tents. Instead he had apparently sent several other of his kind in his place. They had offered no explanation. Stating simply that he had told them so.

The only reason that Chelsea knew who 'he' was, was due to the fact that she had cheated and gotten Alexander to tell her, learning the specific sound that was his name. She had no hope in hell of pronouncing it, but she could almost recognize it whenever it was spoken.

She hadn't needed Alexander to elaborate.

Michael, it seemed had turned his back on the doctors.

Perhaps their fight had been more significant to him than she had originally thought. His outburst had seemed so random, so unprovoked that she had been completely blindsided. Perhaps Michael really did resent the fact that humans had forced their medical care on the Outlanders, an act of mercy that not all of them welcomed.

Had they taken for granted the gratitude of the Outlanders?

"Alexander."

She felt more than saw him look at her.

"Are the other Outlanders angry that we came to help them?"

By now, Alexander knew to use short, simple phrases for Chelsea, and to speak slowly so she could understand everything. "**Not angry, I guess. I suppose some of them are upset that we need help.**"

She glanced at him, "**What about Michael**?"

Thankfully a child couldn't find any reason behind her interest in that particular member of his race, "**Michael is a warrior. A fighter. He protects. But he's not protecting now. He has to let people he doesn't like protect him.**"

"Why doesn't he like humans? Is there a reason?"

Alexander's antennae twitched before he averted his eyes, "**I'm not allowed to talk about stuff like that.**"

Chelsea knew it was unfair for her to be so desperate to know. She knew well what it felt like to have unwelcome people pry into tragedy. But she dropped it, regardless.

Chelsea glanced back at the tent, and then sighed and looked at her watch. Three minutes since she had stepped out. God, time would drag. She knew Graham wouldn't let her in after at least fifteen. Maybe twenty. Touching her bandages, she grimaced.

Definitely twenty.

But she couldn't just sit there and be useless. There were Outlanders suffering and dying. She didn't feel like she had a right to indulge in such trivial weakness. Pursing her lips, she turned and walked back to the tent, sticking her head inside.

She waved a hand at one of the Outlanders she startled sheepishly, before looking around for Graham and Anna. Both of them were apparently discussing the differences in setting a human bone and setting a broken carapace.

Chelsea gestured to the Outlander she had frightened, pointing at her bag. He blinked at her, then at the bag, before obediently going to get it, offering it to her with a wave of his antennae. Chelsea smiled at him and thanked him, which seemed to startle him all over again, before backing out of the tent once more.

Digging through the bag, she pulled out two granola bars and unwrapped them, handing them to Alexander, who happily devoured them. Whilst he was distracted, she made her way over to the crates of medical supplies that had been left for them. The two MNU officers just watched her in silence as she sorted through what remained and stuffed bandages into her bag. What they thought of the injured doctor apparently getting ready to wander off into District 10 on her own, they kept to themselves.

One of them did give her a radio, however, a bulky thing that she clipped on her belt. Then she went back to Alexander.

"**What are you doing?**"

"Graham told me to go for a walk. So I am. I'm just gonna be useful whilst I do it." Chelsea swung her pack onto her back and walked down the road between the tents, Alexander hopping happily beside her.

~*~

Michael didn't know why he was avoiding her. He didn't know why he was following her.

Cowardice was not something he was known for. He was a warrior, from a line of warriors. A soldier. He might not have been a leader, but he was never a coward.

Until now. Until her.

He wasn't afraid of what she could do. He wasn't afraid, physically, about any threat. But it was what she _wanted_ to do, what she _represented_ that made him so apprehensive.

When it came time for him to guide them to the tents, he had instead rounded up some young, trustworthy Outlanders to do the job for him. He had watched from the safety of anonymity, removing the cloth wrapped around his ankles and rubbing dirt on any distinguishing marks to hide himself. He also crouched or sat to conceal his greater height. Debasing himself to hide from her so he could watch her. The bitter irony of it was not lost on him. But he couldn't help it.

It was like he was waiting for them to do something to disprove her words. Like he wanted them to prove that all humans were the same. Hateful, deceitful creatures that cared nothing for his kind.

Things to be despised.

It was why he had gone to their encampment in the dark. Trying to find some evidence of deception, of their continued cruelty so he could dismiss this new endeavour as the farce it was.

Instead, he had found her. A human with odd eyes and a scarred body that reflected their own torment. A human he found he could not ignore anymore.

Hope, he already knew, was one of the vilest of emotions. The cruellest.

And she wanted to give it to him. To all his people.

The thought of sympathising humans had been a distant dream that he could ignore. But to have it thrust it into his face with such glaring evidence…

It was not pretence. He knew that now. She had almost been killed. She had been attacked and wounded. She bore bandages on her head and arms. A bruise on her face. She was battered but not beaten. Not because she was fighting for herself, and that was what confused him most.

He had watched her scan the Outlanders that had come to escort them, had watched her note that he was not amongst them with an expression that had taken him a moment to recognize.

Disappointment.

She was disappointed he hadn't been there. But why?

He wanted so much to vilify her. So much to lump her and the rest of the doctors in the neat group that he had allocated mankind into. But as much as he found reasons, he acknowledged that the illogical conclusions sprung from desperation and not fact.

At the same time, however, he didn't know why it mattered so much to prove this one human wrong. She was simply one creature, weak compared to him. So easily breakable. But she confused him and frightened him and he wanted her to go away. To go far, far away.

But at the same time… he didn't.

She had smiled despite whatever was hidden in her eyes. Laughed despite her wounds. She had happily picked up the orphaned youngling and held him in a way he envisioned she would hold a human child. She had indulged his childish antics and ensured that he was not neglected.

She had laboured over the wounded for hours and each time she emerged from the tent, she looked more and more tired and lost, like something had snatched her spirit away.

He didn't know why he _cared_, but he did…

Michael's hand scraped over his face as he tried to dismiss her, tried to get up and leave, but when she and Alexander wandered off from the tent, he couldn't help but stare.

The woman had almost been _killed_ and she was walking off with nothing more than a child for company. No protection. No weapon. Into the race that had almost claimed her life.

Michael rose from his crouch against his will, startling those around him. But he had eyes only for Chelsea as she walked away, her hand extended down to hold Alexander's. His eyes focused on those joined fingers, two of hers hooked with one of his.

Then he turned and loped after her, using the tents as cover, wishing he could attribute his need to follow her as concern for his people and curiosity, because he definitely did not want to explore it further.

~*~

Chelsea placed a butterfly clip on the bandage, and then checked to make sure it wasn't obscuring the vision of the young Outlander. He blinked at her curiously, before touching the bandage. It covered the wound laid in his head that was infected. She had cleared most of the dead tissue and pus away as the other young Outlanders, in some stage of adolescence, watched with wide eyes.

"Alright. That should do for now. When the bandage starts getting dirty, or in a couple of days, come see me and we'll take another look. Try not to get it wet until then, okay?"

He nodded and ducked his head, making her smile faintly.

There had been faint trickling of small wounds that she had looked at along the road and then into the tents as Alexander helped convince wary Outlanders to let her tend to them. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time it didn't.

Chelsea didn't mind. Some was better than none.

Her radio crackled suddenly, making all of them, Outlander and human, jump.

"_Chelsea…_"

It was Graham, and he sounded less than pleased. Smiling at the Outlanders, Chelsea took the radio off her belt. "Hi hunny. I'm fine."

"_You won't be when I'm done with you. You've been gone for almost ninety minutes. Where the hell did you go? I come out here to see if you've faceplanted, and the MNU officers tell me that you _walked off_. Goddamit, Chelsea. Of all the people_!"

"Well, I'm fine." She took several steps away from the Outlanders, picking up her bag from the ground.

"_You were almost killed last night, Chelsea. _Last night_._ _And then you wander off on your own again. Are you suici_-_"_ He cut himself off with such speed that Chelsea's gut clenched with a pang of anxiety. "_After what they did to you. How can you just wander off_?"

"I can't blame all of them for the actions of a few. If we were adopting that attitude, what does that say about what they can think about us?" She smiled at Alexander as he skipped back to her side with two cans, shaking her bag open so he could put them in with the rest of the things he had collected. The way that Graham had silenced himself on that word made her uncomfortably suspicious. But she let it drop.

"_Just come back, alright? We're almost out of stuff here and it's getting late._"

A wry smile took her features, "Alexander. Time to go." As he returned from the small pile of garbage he had been rummaging through, she waved at the young Outlanders and spoke into the radio. "Coming back. I'll see you in a few."

"_You've been gone for an hour. We might as well come and pick you up._"

"I'm only about twenty minutes away. I made some stops along the way."

"_Chelsea_!"

"See you soon, Graham." She turned the radio off and slipped it back onto her belt.

"**We going back?**"

Chelsea smiled down at Alexander and tapped his head, between his antennae, "Yeah."

"**Is Graham mad**?"

"Nah. He's just grumpy."

"**Why**?"

"Cause he's a man, and men are silly."

"**Why**?"

Chelsea laughed and shook her head, "Don't worry. Come on. We'd better go ba…" Chelsea stopped, her boot scraping over some loose stones and nearly sending her ass up as her eyes were drawn to an Outlander that was watching her from between two tents.

At first she had thought – hoped – that it was Michael. But that notion fled from her mind when she saw his height and the bandages on his hand.

It was the wounded Outlander that had been ignored by the others the day before. The one that had fled.

"Hey…" She stepped towards him, then stopped when he took several back, eyes widening. "Hey. No. I'm not going to hurt you. Please. Let me look at that han-" Something grabbed Chelsea's sock over the top of her hiking boot and she jolted to a stop, glancing down at Alexander.

"**Don't**!"

"Don't… don't what?"

"**Don't go near him.**"

"Don't go…" Chelsea looked up, but saw that the Outlander was gone, leaving only empty space where he had once been. "Alex… what on Earth was that about?"

"**The adults say not to go near him. And he doesn't go near us.**"

"Is he dangerous?"

"**He must be… Why else would they keep us away from him…?**"

Chelsea stared back at the spot again, eyes narrowed. Then she sighed and nodded.

"Alright… let's go…"

As Alexander headed back to the medical tent, Chelsea spared one last stare in the direction the Outlander had gone. Admittedly, though, that wasn't what was foremost in her mind. Nor was Alexander's cryptic fear of the Outlander. He had seemed timid, afraid, not threatening. He had definitely not wanted to interact with her.

What stuck in her mind was the fact that she had originally hoped it was Michael…

~*~

_Don't follow me. Don't follow me._

The wounded Outlander scrambled through the tents, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the human female.

He hadn't meant to get so close. Hadn't meant for her to see him. He just wanted to watch her, curious as to what intentions a human female would have for walking alone amongst the Prawns.

But he had seen her honey coloured hair, and it had lightened suddenly. She had become slightly shorter, more slender. Her scars and bruises and bandages had vanished and suddenly he wasn't looking at a stranger but at his beloved Tania. His Angel. She smiled and laughed and turned towards him.

Then the woman's voice, carrying an accent that was very much not Tania's, and mismatched eyes that held things he didn't want to think about shattered the illusion, making him recall where he was.

Recall what he was.

He didn't want her to come anywhere near him. She shouldn't be touching any of them. Shouldn't even have been in District 10. Alone. Unprotected…

Most of all, he didn't want her to remind him of Tania again.

He wanted to put as much distance between himself and her as possible.

So engrossed was he in the concern of pursuit, he paid no attention to what was laid out before him, so by the time he saw the larger Outlander before him, he didn't have any time to react before he smashed into his chest.

The wounded Outlander landed on his bad hand, sending pain spiralling through his body, which the larger capitalized on, grabbing his throat. His unbandage hand wrapped around the creature's forearm, eyes wide as his gills fluttered, his still-adjusting mind thinking he was choking.

"**What did you do**?"

"**Fucking nothing! L-Let me go!**"

The larger Outlander leant over the smaller, eyes narrowing as his antennae twitched. The wounded Outlander's alien physiology detected the presence and scent of a dominant Outlander and he was disgusted at how that registered in his mind.

"**You're running for a reason.**"

"**Fuck off. I didn't do shit. Let me go!**" His eyes widened when the Outlander's hand tightened. "**I fucking swear! I was running from the girl!**"

The hand loosened as his captor started, blinking, "**The girl?**"

"**Yeah. She came towards me. I didn't fucking want her to touch me.**"

Suddenly he was hurled to the ground and a foot planted on his chest, crushing it under the larger Outlander's weight, "**Did you hurt her?**"

The pinned Outlander stopped his struggles when he registered the words, eyes widening, "**Hurt… fuck YOU! Fuck you, Prawn! I won't ever hurt a woman! I don't give a shit what I am now! I won't ever hurt a woman! The bandages and bruises were already there! I bet no human did that. Look to your own kind!**"

It seemed that the Outlander didn't believe the pinned one for a moment, before he lifted his foot and stepped back, exhaling sharply, "**Explain.**"

The other picked himself slowly, awkward on his unsteady feet, still unused to how they moved. He cast a dark glare at the Outlander, his mouthparts twisting into an alien sneer, "**Explain what?**"

"**You won't hit a female.**"

The wounded Outlander rubbed his face with the back of his good hand, "**I might look like one of you fucking creatures, but I'm not one. No human man would ever hit a fucking woman.**"

"**It seems inequality exists amongst your own race.**"

"**Don't give me that shit. It's got nothing to do with that. It's… women are supposed to be protected. They're weaker. It's just how they're made. Men are supposed to keep them safe. And she's here, all alone, in fucking District 10. Fucking bandaged up. Who the fuck gave her those wounds, huh? No man. No human. You fucking monsters, hurting a woman.**"

The large Outlander narrowed his eyes, mouthparts clicking together, "**Don't forget you're one of us, human.**"

"**Yeah. For now. Until Christopher gets back. And then I'm back to being human. Back to being fucking human. Until then, I won't let her touch me. No woman should have to touch one of you fucking creatures.**"

The other Outlander seemed disturbed about his harsh words, making the wounded one curious.

"**Why do you care about her, huh? What is she to you?**" Then his eyes widened and he pointed at the larger Outlander, aggressive despite the size difference. "**Don't you fucking touch her, you hear me? I know what you do with those prostitutes. She's not like that. Don't you fucking touch her!**"

Michael whirled on the smaller Outlander, enraged that he would insinuate he would violate her like that. He would _never_ hurt Chelsea. The dominant sound that escaped his throat was enough to send the mutated human that was once known as Wikus skittering backwards, eyes wide.

"**Run away, pest, before there's nothing left for Christopher to restore.**"

"**And she wants to **_**help**_** you fucking things. She's mad. She's fucking insane.**" This was muttered under the mutant's breath as he turned and loped clumsily into the tents, vanishing from sight quickly.

Michael's shoulders heaved with each of his breaths as he watched him go, then he stepped back, glancing towards the road. A line of white tents obscured his sight of Chelsea, but he knew she was there. He could feel her presence, like a beacon in a perception he didn't know he had.

The mutant's words came back to him. About how she shouldn't have to touch him. He knew that his kind disgusted humans, but Chelsea had never shown any signs of disgust. She had happily touched Alexander. Happily been held by him.

She was different, wasn't she? She was different to the humans Wikus described.

Because if she wasn't, that would mean that she, as a human female, needed to be protected. And that might possibly be the unknown feeling that Michael was experiencing. But that was impossible. He didn't want to _protect_ her. He had saved her because he didn't want his word to be broken. Because he didn't want his people to suffer for Adam's thoughtless act of hate.

He hadn't _protected_ her for the sake of keeping her safe.

Because that would mean that he actually _cared_ about Chelsea.

And he didn't.

… Did he?

~*~

"Callum. If you get me a bubblebath, I'll have sex with you."

"I'll be right back."

Natalie's laugh was weary as Callum hopped out of the truck like his lap was on fire. But instead of racing off for the false promise of a bubble bath, he helped her down behind him.

"I really would like a bubble bath, though," she murmured wistfully.

"I'd like the internet to be up and running," he responded. "I want to check my emails and let my mother know that I haven't been killed."

"A worrier?"

"Paranoid schizophrenic."

"…Oh."

Callum grimaced as he rubbed his neck, "I hate to admit it, but I came to Africa to get away from her, too. She was driving me insane…" He gave a dry laugh. "Ahhh I'm not funny…"

"Does she know we'll have SatPhones soon?"

"No, thank God. I mean, I love my mum, but… No. I'm thirty. Not thirteen."

Natalie smiled faintly, "I wish I had a mum like that."

"You… she's not dead, is she?"

"Nah. But she's obsessed. A lawyer in some firm. I don't care and the indifference is mutual. She's ticked that I decided to be a doctor like my 'good for nothing bleeding heart father'." Natalie smirked.

Callum was about to say something utterly in appropriate in an attempt to cheer her up, but thankfully he spied someone approaching out of the corner of his eye. "Graham!"

The US corpsman arched a brow, "Did I interrupt something? You sound relieved to see me, and since you have a beautiful woman on your arm, that kinda makes me worry for you, man."

"You know I only have eyes for you, Graham."

"… Okay. We entered new realms of weird." Graham smiled as he cupped Natalie's chin. "You look shellshocked."

She gave him a wan smile, "Nothing hard sleeping pills and a hot bubble bath won't fix."

"Sleeping pills I can do, but I'll have to substantiate you on a hot meal, instead. Come on."

Natalie grimaced, "I don't think I can… I've never felt so guilty about everything in my life…" She glanced back at the tents, her eyes hollow. "Those poor creatures…"

"Hey. Don't think about that." Graham wrapped his arm around her waist, squeezing her. "We're here to help and that's the best we can do. Come on. You were the last ones in, but we haven't started eating yet."

As the three of them made their way to the mess tent, which was already bustling with activity, Natalie said suddenly, "Where's Chelsea? And Alexander?"

It was only then that Callum noticed that they were absent from the tent, and from the rest of the camp. Callum and Natalie had been paired, same as Graham and Chelsea, and he already knew that Graham wouldn't have come back to the camp without her.

Graham jerked his head and the two of them turned in the direction he indicated where, beyond the tents and on a small rise, they could see someone sitting on the ground, concentrating on something in their lap.

"She scooped up some food and wandered off. Guess she wanted some time alone. With Alexander."

"You sound disappointed at that."

Graham glanced at Natalie, and then lifted a shoulder in a sigh. "I just hope… she doesn't lose herself in whatever world is behind her eyes and forget there's a real one, out here, that she has to live in."

Natalie stood for a moment longer, watching Chelsea, her expression unreadable as Graham's words rang in her mind. It was only when Callum called her name that she blinked back to herself, glancing at him.

"Coming."

Chelsea stroked Alexander's back as he slept against her thigh. To one side was the crude little phone she had made with the two tins he had found and some twine. He had been thoroughly entertained by the fact that they could speak through the tins along the twine. When he had launched into the explanation of how electrical current could emulate vibrations for phone calls, however, Chelsea had feigned that her brain had hurt, amusing him even more.

The two of them had eaten until he was full and then she had fed him a little more, before he had dozed off against her leg, apparently overcome by the activities of the day. The almost-empty plate lay to one side and she was perfectly content to let him sleep as the sun kissed the horizon and began to set in full.

"What happened to you, Alexander? Where is your parent?"

"**He's dead.**"

Chelsea started violently, causing Alexander to roll over and flop on the dirt. Amazingly the resilient little Outlander child remained asleep and Chelsea thumped her chest, trying to get her heart to beat properly.

She perceived out of her peripheral vision that a large Outlander moved up beside her, crouching down. When she looked to him, she saw two MNU officers watching him warily.

Chelsea looked to the Outlander's face and she jolted again when she realized that it was Michael, her eyes widening, "What the… you scared the shit out of me!" Without thinking, she slapped his shoulder, making him recoil and rub the joint. "Holy Christ. I think I lost two years of my life."

He apparently decided to let that slide as he knelt down beside her, watching her warily. It was Chelsea that spoke again, however.

"What did you mean he was dead?"

"**Are there meanings to the word that I don't comprehend**?"

His sarcasm wasn't appreciated and she turned to glare at him. He stared back at her, the intensity of his gaze somewhat unnerving. Instinctively she rubbed her mouth, wondering if she had chicken grease on her face.

One of his hands shot out, making her gasp and recoil, but he only grabbed her wrist, holding her. Pulling her forward, he rested her palm on his shoulder, staring at her still.

Silence reigned between them and Chelsea glanced away, then back, "Uh…?"

"**Do I disgust you**?"

Her brows winged towards her bandaged brow, "Uh. No. But you're kind of weirding me out right now…"

"**I disgust you.**" He tossed her hand away with a sigh.

"No. That's not what I said. You're just acting weird."

"**You don't know me. You don't know what's 'weird' for me.**"

"I'm getting a little tired of you snapping at me for nothing," she retorted sharply, trying to keep her voice low so she didn't disturb Alexander. "What's your problem? I haven't done anything wrong."

"**You shouldn't be here.**"

"Well I am. So tough titties. And don't give me anything about forcing myself on you. I'm not. I'm here, and I'm helping, but if anyone wanted to protest about my help, they could have. Be afraid. Be angry. Resent that you need help. Fine. Hurl abuse at me. I can take it. But someone is extending their hand to you. I know what we've done to you, and it sickens me. It does. You don't deserve to be treated this way. But _I_ haven't done anything. So don't blame me for it when I'm trying to make things better."

Chelsea gestured at the white tents, "So hey, why are you here anyway? You chickened out this morning for no good reason. Go do it again. I didn't ask you to be here. You don't have to be here. You shouldn't be here. So just go away, since _I_ seem to disgust _you_ so much." Chelsea turned away, returning her attention to Alexander's form.

He had slept on peacefully through their heated exchange and she was grateful for that.

Michael, however, didn't move. She couldn't feel his gaze on her, but his presence was… odd. She shouldn't be so upset that he was upset, but she was. He was one Outlander. Only one. But his approval seemed to mean so much to her. As if the righteousness of their expedition hinged on his opinion.

Which was beyond retarded.

Her eyes closed and she cursed herself for being moronic. Her hand reached out and touched Alexander's back, brushing over his carapace once more, as if she could draw strength and comfort from his innocence.

"**MNU took him.**"

Chelsea blinked and turned to look at Michael, who was watching her hand stroking Alexander's back, avoiding her gaze. Finally he turned his head away, his maxillae twitching, before he answered her silent question, ensuring to keep his words slow and to pause so she could rapid-translate in her head.

"**His father was suspected to be part of a resistance, which he was, but there was no evidence. Those with young are careful. The young are the most important thing. He wasn't stupid enough to do anything with young. But they didn't care. They ripped his shack apart and dragged him out and beat him in the middle of the street.**" Michael rubbed his shoulder, his mouthparts drawing tightly together. "**I lived near him. I wanted to help. I did. But I knew if I tried, I'd be dragged away as well. And I'd be just as dead as he was.**"

Michael shook his head slowly and exhaled, "**It's the fate of all those that are taken. They're never seen again. But he was so young. So confused. Some of the others, ones that were closer to his father took him in. But he just kept asking where his father was… He was so lost.**" The Outlander closed his eyes and put one hand to his head. "**And all I could think about was the fact that I had watched it happen and done nothing. Just as I had a thousand times before. Just as I did a dozen times after, right up until we were forcibly relocated.**"

Chelsea _barely_ comprehended everything he had just said. Most of it was incoherent, lost behind the image that was dancing behind her eyes. Alexander standing where his father had been last, hearing the echoes of his father's cries. Wondering where his father had gone.

Worse yet, wondering when he would come back.

Did he know? Did he know that his father was dead? Did he know that he was never coming back? That he would never see him again. He had probably become one of those horrific genetic experiments that had been reported. Probably fucking _target practice_ for all she knew. But there was his son, who had bounced around happily all day and helped her treat his wounded elders and who had wrapped the female doctors around his finger. Maybe it was childish innocence that allowed him to shoulder the burden. But regardless, Chelsea suddenly had the overwhelming need to protect Alexander against every single threat. To cradle him against her chest and make sure nothing could ever touch him again.

Chelsea bent her head over Alexander and made that quiet vow in her mind, etched it in her soul. She knew there were so many young Outlanders who would have suffered more, suffered worse, but what mattered to her was Alexander.

She swore he would never, ever be hurt again…

Michael watched her, before turning away, eyes narrowing, "**That was only one moment. One single moment of twenty eight seasonal rotations on this forsaken rock full of cruelty and malice. We have **_**every**_** reason to hate you. Every reason. And you come and reach out and expect us to take your hand.**"

"I know," she said quietly. "We were naïve in-"

"**Not naïve. Arrogant. Pure arrogance.**"

"We are not _arrogant_!"

"**No. You're right. You're **_**evil**_." He shoved to his feet and walked away.

Sick and tired of his obstinacy, she got up as well, careful not to disturb Alexander, and hurried after him. Grabbing his wrist, she yanked him around, refusing to be cowed by his snarl of rage. "You can't blame me for what was done to you!"

"**Then who **_**can**_** I blame?! Who can I blame for everything that we have suffered. Don't think you can come into here for a week and know what it is we have endured! You don't! Don't think you can hear the story of one orphaned child and think you comprehend! You **_**don't**_**. You **_**don't**_** know what suffering is!**"

"Yes I do."

"**No. No you **_**don't**_!"

"What is it that I don't comprehend, Michael?!"

"_**Your race butchered my children, and I had to watch them die**_!"

~*~

* * *

_Cuh-liffhanger, and the reason for Michael's prejudice is revealed. Which is identical to Adam's reason, ironically. But it shows you the two paths that their hatreds took. Adam was reduced to insanity and Michael was reduced to… well. Utter despair._

_Firstly, I want to apologize for the long delay between chapters. I actually had this finished two weeks ago. Or near to. But then my Microsoft Word spasmed on me and through a series of unfortunate events that were mostly my own stupid fault, I ended up losing the whole chapter. So what you see before you is actually a complete re-write off the top of my head._

_Some of the conversations, to me, don't flow properly. It was because I was trying to emulate the previous chapter before it was deleted, because everything was totally perfect in that moment. But as you can see, it didn't succeed properly._

_I would have gotten this chapter up sooner, but I'm afraid that I had 4 assignments due quite recently, so they unfortunately took priority. Damn University!_

_As promised, here are the responses to you, my wonderful reviewers, for Chapter 5._

_**Writer's Apprentice**: Thank you for your well wishes. Chelsea thanks you as well! I hope you're ready for a bumpy ride, though. You're right, though. Alexander will play a very important part in the story, as you'll see. He will be a catalyst that is needed for a reaction. Otherwise the two components (Chelsea and Michael) would never truly work. Alexander will be their driving force. Or at least what he represents. And Chelsea has faced death on many occasions and has come out the other end with her life. What that has left her with, as you can see, is a very firm belief, more if which you will see as her story is told in later chapters._

_**Herr Wozzeck:** To be honest, the 'aborting' and killing of the eggs in the film made me really sick. Especially the amusement and joy that came from it. I had to explore that further in the fiction, and it will. I can't just let something like that. And Alexander isn't a main character so much as he's crucial for some things to happen between the main characters. You'll see how in later chapters. And yes, there will be some Christopher/Oliver(CJ) parallels in this story. I just loved their relationship. It was so, as much as I hesitate to use the term, human. Adorable and heart warming._

_**Vampiric Angel 4**: Thank you!_

_**Amaruk Wolfheart of the Wraith**: Thank you very much! I'm glad the re-write helped._

_**Azdgari**: … Wow. Just… wow. Thank you. Very, very much. I'm glad that you enjoy it so much._

_**Blue Jay**: Chelsea's very lucky for a lot of things, as you'll see. Sorry this chapter took so long!_

_**Mistah Eleganzah**: Sorry that the argument from Michael seemed too abrupt, but that was the point. I don't think I explained it well enough. It's supposed to have spilled forth with little to no provocation because he's been thinking about it a lot. I hope this chapter helped explain it better. The changes to chapter four came because of you, so you should pat yourself on the back. I thank you for that! And the prologue had been disturbing me for a long time. I originally wrote it to ensnare readers without boring them with chapter one, but when I saw my views, I realized that hadn't worked. So I re-wrote it. I'm glad it worked!_

_**The Raven Quoth**: Thank you! I hoped you like this chapter!_

_**Miss Meliss**: Thank you. I'm glad you've enjoyed this fiction so much! Nothing pleases me more than when someone enjoys my writing! I'm glad I could make such an effective story for you. Michael and Chelsea's relationship is definitely a slow starter and there will be many mishaps and maladies along the road, but hopefully they can emerge with a strong friendship. As for grammatical/spelling errors, please be aware that I am Australian, and our dictionary spelling is different to the American one (As I am assuming you are. I apologize if you are not.) So what might appear as spelling errors to you might appear fine to me. Other spelling errors could come from simple mistakes and me not noticing wrong letter placement. Such as 'form' instead of 'from'. Mostly because I write these chapters in the late hours of the night to the wee hours of the morning, or after an assignment, so my brain is rather frazzled. I will keep a closer eye on it, regardless. Thank you very much for your advisement! As for your questions, I hope most of them will be answered through this story, but I hope I leave you with some to keep you thinking! I think it is an author's greatest victory if they can leave a reader with more to contemplate after the story is finished, so that it can never truly end for a reader._

_**Sagira**: Thank you very much! You flatter me, really. I haven't had the time/opportunity to read other fanfics, unfortunately, but I am sure there are others that exceed mine. But regardless, I'm very glad you think so._

_I shall try to get the new chapter up as soon as possible, University allowing, and hope that you all enjoyed this chapter in the meantime._

_PLEASE review if you liked it. Reviews keep me going! Critique me, shred me, do as you wish! And flame. Nights are getting cold._

_Love_

_Anne_


	8. Ch 7: Transcend

**Warning**: Warm and fluffy feelings. Angst.

* * *

~*~

**Chapter Seven:**

Transcend

"You're lying…"

It was the only thing she could think to say. The only thing her horrified mind could grasp in the numbness that followed his outburst. There was no way. No way…

"**Lying**?!" Michael's word vanished into a sound of incoherent rage, or at least she thought, as he advanced on her.

Terrified, Chelsea skittered back, almost falling on her ass. Over his shoulder she saw the MNU officers lift their guns.

"No! No." She flung a hand out to them. "Go away! Please! Just… I'll be alright. Go!"

"Ma'am…"

"Fuck 'er."

One of the MNU officers grabbed his concerned fellow and dragged him off, leaving her alone with the Outlander. Apparently they were tired with her. Not that she could blame them.

Michael watched them go, before rounding on her, making her take a nervous step back. He was huge. Over two full feet taller than her. Broad-shouldered, heavily armoured, powerful.

All of that was turned on her.

Against her will, Chelsea wished the MNU officers hadn't left.

"**Do you want to die, human**?" he spat, confirming her fears of the threat he presented. "**Do you want to _die_? Are you insane? Sending your protection away?! Are you so naïve to think that I won't kill you for what you just said**?!"

"N-no… I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… I didn't mean that I just… please…" Chelsea's voice was trembling as much as she was. "Please. I didn't think… you'd… explain if they were here."

"**_Explain_?! I owe you no explanation! After what you're people have done to us**!"

"My people, Michael!" she whispered, taking a step towards him, closing the distance and bringing him within arm's reach. A fact she was starkly aware of. "_My_ race! You claim that _my_ people did this to you! I… I don't want to believe you-"

"**Because you don't want to believe an Outlander over humans**?!"

"Because I don't want to believe my people have done something so _evil_!" She fisted her hands in her hair and whirled, closing her eyes. "This is my race you're talking about, Michael. My people. I have faith in them… And what you're saying…" Tears filled her eyes as she sucked in a desperate breath. "It can't be… it can't…"

"**MNU did it. Under the guise of 'population control'.**" He stepped closer, relentless and uncaring for her distress. "**Sometimes they take the eggs and we never see them again. Sometimes they rip out the intubation lines feeding them necessary nutrients, killing them. Sometimes they just _set them on fire_.**"

Chelsea clutched at her chest, feeling beyond sick, but Michael was relentless. She didn't have a _right_ to stare at him like that. She didn't have a _right_ to be upset at what he was telling her. She wanted to know?! She'd _know_!

"**You think the neglect and abuse is the _worst_ we've suffered? You think those genetic experiments are the _worst_ we have suffered? _Twenty nine _years we have been here, Chelsea. And that is twenty nine years of _utter torment_.**"

Chelsea didn't know what the Outlander word for 'hell' was, but she was damn sure he had just uttered it with such vehemence, she was surprised it didn't land on the ground and sizzle.

"**My first child was seven years into this nightmare, a year before the relocation to District 9. I wanted solace. Comfort on this forsaken rock of a planet, with this monstrous race that had enslaved and subjugated my people. I did _everything_ necessary to take care of my child's welfare. I ate and created a strong egg. I hid him safely. The next day I returned from a mockery of a 'job' I had to the domicile your people allocated to me, to find… to find MNU… had…**" He choked, his head twitching back and forth as he closed his eyes in pain. "**My child. My… My 'unauthorized' child… had been murdered whilst I wasn't… wasn't there to protect him…**"

"Stop… please…" The anguish in Michael's voice was easily conveyed through his alien language, his hands coming up to his head as he doubled over in fresh pain.

"**You're begging me to stop? To stop? No. No you won't be spared. My child was _murdered_ by your people._ Murdered_ by them. And if that was not enough, I had to watch as they carried him way for 'examination'… I was not even able to mourn my child properly! I can only imagine what your kind subjected him to**!" Michael dug his fingers into his head. "**He hadn't even made it out of his egg…**"

Michael relived every horrific moment of discovering his child's fate, of the days of mourning afterwards that had lost him his 'human' job. Their lack of care when he tried to explain what had happened… No one cared. No human ever cared about the suffering of an Outlander… No human cared for their children. He relived the torment as if it was fresh, anew, feeling the wound in his chest like it had been carved just then.

"**And then… then eleven years later, I tried again… I tried… I tried again. This one was more closely protected. He managed to hatch… He… He was my son and… and I cared for him… I _loved_ him… I thought if he was hatched, he would be safe. But he wasn't…**"

"Michael, stop!"

But he didn't. He wouldn't.

"**They came for an inspection… found him. They found him. I didn't have a damn _license_ for him, so they were going to take him from me… I _knew_ what they would. And he… he knew, too… he ran. He ran away from them, trying to hide... I couldn't move in time… and they… they…**"

"Stop!"

"**I hate humans! I hate you all! For everything you have done to my people! For everything! You come here giving us help. Help that we only need because of _you_! Nothing you do, nothing you say, can _ever_ make up for what has been done!**"

Michael whirled and stormed away from Chelsea, hating her, hating himself. So desperate was he to see humans as monsters, he couldn't even entertain the thought of one of them saving his kind. Couldn't let himself hope.

And he knew it.

He couldn't let her get close…

Couldn't let her hurt-

"I'm sorry…"

Michael froze.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry for everything we did… I'm so sorry for everything that happened…"

Michael turned and stared down at Chelsea. Her head was bowed and she was doubled over, her hands fisted in her hair. Crystalline droplets appeared from under her hair and landed between her feet. Slowly her knees buckled and she sank to the ground, shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry… for your children…"

Michael inhaled, and then stepped towards her. A hand lifted, and then lowered, dropping limply at his side. This his head came up and he stared at the young Outlander that had been hidden by Chelsea's standing body.

Alexander.

"**Chelsea's been hurt by us, too. Been hurt and she didn't care. She doesn't blame you. Doesn't blame me.**"

"**It's not the same…**!"

"Alexander…"

The young Outlander scurried over to her and climbed into her arms, staring at Michael with accusation in his eyes.

"**All she's done is help and all you can do is hate. Why should she help you**?"

"Alexander," she shook her head. "It's alright…"

"**It's not alright! I won't… let him be mean to you like that! You're just like the scarred one! Soon, all you'll be good for is hating, too**!"

Michael jerked back, eyes wide.

"Alexander!"

"**They killed my children**!"

"**_She_ didn't… She's crying! Crying because of what happened to you! You could at least care**!"

"**I do care**!" Michael seemed to shock himself at his outburst. A hand came up, rubbing over his head, before he turned away and closed his eyes. "**I do care. I don't know why. I thought I could… I thought if you were just like the others...**"

"Humans… aren't like what you've seen, Michael," she whispered. "We're… we're not bad… You have only seen a small percent. You're different. You scare us. But we… we're… No. We're a horrible race. And we kill each other. And we find excuses to hate one another. But we… have a capacity for good. We do. And we… we won't be the only ones to help you… We won't… But please… please…"

"**No one has ever said that.**"

"Wh… what?"

"**Sorry. … No one has ever… said they were sorry…**" Michael moved over to her, kneeling down before her. "**No one has ever said they were sorry… for what has been done to us… No one.**"

Chelsea's tears flowed again as she struggled to speak through them, "I'm sorry…"

"**I believe you…**"

Chelsea's head lowered and Michael reached out, putting his hand on her hair. Then, suddenly, she leaned against him, putting her free hand around his chest and holding him tightly.

"I'm sorry…" She kept repeating the words over and over, each one more and more obscured with tears. Alexander clutched her side and stared up at Michael.

Hesitatingly Michael lowered his arms and put them around her. Alexander was right. He was punishing Chelsea for something that was not her fault. Punishing her for his desperation to paint humans in the light of villains.

But in the end, he just made himself like the humans he so despised.

Though he had initially been welcoming, he could not overcome the prejudices. He could not push them aside. But letting her know… speaking them… and her reaction…

She was everything he had prayed for, a human who was compassionate, and kind, and wanted to help them. But he could not get past the fact that she was human.

"**I am sorry…**" His arms twined around her, holding her against his chest, feeling her tears dampening his skin between his armour plates. "**I am sorry…**"

Chelsea's arms wound around his neck, cupping the back of his head as her cries grew louder, shoulders shaking with her soft sobs. Michael curled his other arm around her waist and cupped her own skull in his hand gently, supporting her as she wept tears that his kind could not.

She wept for them, he knew. Wept for him. Her tears undid him. Her words. Her honesty. For him. For his people.

He was sorry it had taken so much for him to realize that.

In that moment, the barriers of race, prejudice and hatred were surpassed as human and Outlander sat quietly, their spirits, scarred, battered and broken, reaching out to one another and found solace in a bond that transcended all others.

~*~

Michael sat quietly as his chest formed an impromptu bed for Chelsea where she lay against him. After her hysteria and tears, she had fallen into an exhausted sleep, Alexander doing the same in her arms.

Michael didn't know how she was comfortable on the ground, leaning against his hard chest, but she appeared contentedly asleep.

Or just exhausted.

Michael stroked his fingers through her alien 'hair' and down her side, then repeated the motion again.

He wasn't sure what he thought of her now. Didn't know what was in store for them. He didn't know how he felt. But he appreciated the quiet to contemplate.

His fingers drew back the hair on her brow, examining the paper stitches holding the fresh wound closed and the white lie of the old scar, wondering what had caused it. The former he knew, but the latter was log before he had known her. Her scars on her wrists were also mysterious to him. Such precise lines. And the scars o her stomach. He wondered what had caused them. Wondered what had-

"Did she fall asleep?"

Michael turned sharply when he heard an unfamiliar female voice, tensing. The human, however, was tiny. She would barely come over his hip. Not at all threatening.

She stood well out of arm's reach, her face making the human gesture of a 'smile', but there was something wrong with it. Like she was uncertain.

"Hi," she said softly. "My name is Natalie. I'm one of the doctors." She touched her chest as she spoke, her voice gentler than Chelsea's. Her skin was flawless, not a mark or scar in sight. Her eyes were the same colour. Warmer. Gentler.

But they were also innocent. Like a child.

When Michael didn't speak, Natalie hesitated, before trying again, "I was thinking maybe it would be best to get her back to her tent. It can get cold and I don't want her getting bitten by anything. Or Alexander." She nodded her head at the young Outlander sleeping against Chelsea's hip. "Uh. I meant Alexander getting bitten. Not… biting her."

"**I know what you meant.**" Michael slowly got up, setting Chelsea on the ground. He stepped back, looked at them one last time, then turned and began to walk away.

"Uh…"

Michael stopped and glanced back, seeing that smile back on Natalie's face.

"You… don't have to go."

Michael just stared at her, so she closed her rubbed her short hair, "I don't see why you can't stay."

Wordlessly, Michael turned to look at the MNU guards, then at her.

She glanced at them, then back at Michael, "You don't have to be afraid of them anymore. MNU… Things are changing, now." Natalie glanced down at Chelsea. "Forget them. Besides. I can't get her to her tent. She's twice my size."

Michael knew that she could have gotten one of the human males, and from the look on her face, she knew it too. The two of them shared a moment of silent communication, before Michael returned to Chelsea's side.

Natalie knelt down and slid her arms under Alexander. The young one woke slightly, his eyes opening, but quickly returned to sleep when he saw who held him. Natalie set him against her shoulder, her brows arching as she shushed him. Once Alexander was settled, she glanced at Michael.

"He's lighter than he looks."

"**Humans are heavier than they look.**" He knelt down and eased his arms under Chelsea. She made a sound of complaint but remained asleep as Michael tugged her close, then lifted her into his arms easily.

Natalie smiled at him, and then turned her head slightly. "This way."

Michael stepped back, his maxillae twitching as he watched the MNU who were watching him. He turned when he heard the small female calling to him and walked after her slowly. She lead him to one of the tents that looked identical to all the others, visually, but when he dipped his head inside, it was covered in Chelsea's pheromones.

For some reason, it wasn't what he expected. He had supposed they would have extravagant living conditions. But it was really a bed, two bags of clothes, a desk, some books, a lamp and a laptop. There was also a picture that Natalie had turned down before he got into the tent. He had heard it click on the desk before he had entered.

Natalie balanced Alexander against her chest as she pulled the blankets back on the plain little bed, making sure not to let him fall. Stepping back, she nodded at the bed. Michael moved in, careful not to nudge her, and set Chelsea down on the bedding. Natalie put Alexander in Chelsea's arms and moved around Michael to remove her boots and set them at the foot of her bed.

Chelsea sighed, stretched and went to roll over. Alexander burbled something quietly and tucked himself into her side, causing Chelsea to roll back over and curl around him instinctively. Natalie's expression was unreadable to Michael as she tugged the blanket up, laying it carefully over the two.

Michael himself didn't even know what to think as he watched one human happily put an Outlander to bed with another. Granted Alexander was a child, but still…

"**It's okay for them to… to sleep together like this**?"

"They'll be alright," Natalie chuckled faintly. "Besides. Chelsea is protective of Alexander. I don't see anyone separating the two."

"**Protective?**"

"Oh… yes…" Natalie glanced at the picture, then at Michael. That strange, uncertain smile was back. "Wait here." With that, she turned and rushed out of the tent. She came back a few minutes later, holding a pillow and a blanket.

Michael didn't know what he thought she was going to do, but when she pressed them into his arms, he could only stare.

"**What…**?"

"You should stay too," she said softly. "Chelsea would like that." She backed away and smiled at him. "Goodnight." Natalie stepped out of the tent, easing it closed. She closed her eyes and expelled a soft breath, speaking once.

"Don't."

She glanced over her shoulder to see Graham standing next to Chelsea's tent. His own was directly behind hers, in the second row and he had obviously been on the way before he saw Natalie heading into Chelsea's tent.

Apparently, Natalie had also seen him.

She stepped back from the tent, keeping her eyes away from his as she walked past him towards her own tent, which was two down from Chelsea's. Before she entered, she looked back at Graham, who had not moved, his back now to her.

"You can't be her knight, Graham. You're not what she needs."

Graham's shoulders tightened, "Because I'm not tragic enough."

Natalie shook her head, "Because you'll be saving her. And she doesn't want to be saved." Then she was gone, vanishing inside her tent.

Graham's hand tightened into a fist as he stared at Chelsea's tent, where he knew she was sleeping, alone, with one of the biggest Prawns he had ever seen. In danger.

How could he not want to save her from that?

Back in Chelsea's tent, Michael's antennae twitched as he heard the male's footsteps walk away. Turning his head slightly, he redirected his eyes to the human and the Outlander sleeping contently in the bed together.

Michael reached out, his fingers almost brushing Chelsea's cheek. Before they could touch, he stopped, turning his hand over to stare at his palm. Then he looked at the hardened surface of his palm, at the interlocking plates that were so much more enduring than soft human flesh.

So different.

He looked at Chelsea again, his brows drawing together. His mouthparts twitched as he tilted his head, a finger picking up a lock of hair and setting it aside so he could see her face better.

Soft-skinned creatures with their smooth features and their tiny eyes. Their massive waists and how they had too many fingers on their frail hands. It was almost creepy. The way they stood rigid and upright, rigid. The way they could be bloated and rippling like water. Their strange mouths with so many different positions. The hard, white teeth behind them that they bared in expressions of pleasure. Dressing themselves in ridiculous clothing. Covering and revealing. Parts of their bodies which were acceptable to be seen and parts that were not. Segregated to male and female, with protrusions to define the two. Neither of which could be touched, or were talked about, but were so significant. The tendrils growing from their head and nowhere else that they cut and shaped for vanity's sake. Their legs with only one knee and their feet clad in hardened shoes. So easily wounded. So easily hurt. What was the point of having a protective, hardened skeleton on the _inside_, where it didn't protect anything at all? They couldn't protect themselves naturally. How had they endured to dominance on this planet?

So different and yet the same.

They were hideous. Disgusting.

And yet…

Michael rested his hand over Alexander. He was small for his age. But they always were on this strange world, so far from their home. It was pure coincidence that their lungs could cope with their air, but there were things missing. Things that were extra. Different.

The young suffered because of that.

His hand jerked back when Alexander shifted closer to Chelsea, seeking comfort in her. The way he would have with his parent.

The way his own child would with Michael.

The elder Outlander put a hand to his chest, imagining his own young at that age. Grown. With young of their own, perhaps.

His hand lifted and he raked it over his face, rising up and stepping away from Chelsea. Could he overcome his hatred for human? His own grief?

Did Chelsea have any right to ask that of him?

As if tugged by the strings of fate, Michael's eyes turned towards Chelsea's desk and the downturned picture. His eyes darted to Chelsea, as if to check she remained asleep, before his feet carried him to her desk. For the longest time he just stared down at the picture, wondering why Natalie had lowered it.

Wondered why he felt like it could change everything.

Knowing his luck, it would be nothing more than her with a dog or something.

His hand reached out, stopped, reached out again, and he cursed himself quietly for his hesitation. Glancing back at Chelsea, he finally scooped up the picture, shifting to the entrance of the tent to let the moonlight help him see what was framed behind the glass as he turned it over.

What he saw made him twitch hard, eyes widening.

In the picture Chelsea was being hugged from behind by a human male with a mess of black hair and laughing eyes, his cheek resting against her hair. She had one eye closed and was laughing as he obviously leant some of his weight on her. The Chelsea in the picture was much younger. There were no scars on her.

But that was not what struck Michael. Not after what had happened. Not after everything he had hurled at Chelsea mere hours ago. No. There was something else that hit him even harder, after all of that.

In Chelsea's arms was a young, human child, her arms spread wide as she hung in Chelsea's grasp. She was laughing, smiling, and her eyes were the same mismatched gaze of the woman that could only be her mother…

Michael put the picture back on the desk, staring at it in silence. He was not stupid. He could put it together. His head twitched to the side, his eyes tracking to Chelsea lying in her bed, holding Alexander with a protectiveness he could only now appreciate.

_Why hadn't she said anything_?

Why hadn't she said anything when he had accused her of not knowing what it was like to lose a child?

Because Michael knew now, without a doubt.

_She did_.

~*~

Footsteps carried through the darkness as an adolescent Outlander wandered through the tents. He met the eyes of those around him, but did not stop. Instead, he kept moving forward in silence, his head high. He was not dominant. He was not a leader. He wasn't even of an intelligence that would mean he had the potential to become one.

But he knew something they did not.

As he walked, he heard one set of footsteps fall in behind him. And another. And another. Soon movement trickled from all corners of District 10.

The adolescent Outlander smiled.

~*~

Today was going to be a bad day…

Natalie sat up in her bed and sighed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She hadn't gotten much sleep, waiting for a shout of alarm or gunfire. Thankfully there was none. The night passed in peace.

The day would not be so.

Graham would be angry, she knew. Angry at what she had done. Some of the doctors might be somewhat upset that there had been an Outlander in their camp without their knowledge. MNU _would_ be upset.

But to make an omelette you have to break some eggs.

Natalie thought she did the right thing. Chelsea had reached out to the Outlanders and now they needed to wait for them to reach back. A child's innocence was all well and good, but it was the adults they needed to convince.

They needed the Outlanders to accept them before they could get the world to accept the Outlanders.

When Natalie had first heard of District 9 and the aliens, she could admit it was selfishness that had made her want to go. To gain notoriety from tending an alien race. The opportunities. The fact that it would look good on a résumé. Yes she had wanted to help, but it was all motivated by altruistic desires.

Now she knew better.

Never could spoken or written word have conveyed the horrors she had seen. Not even witnessing the wounds and fear could show what the aliens had faced at the hands of humans. Natalie knew without a doubt that she was not the kind of human that the Outlanders needed to find hope in.

Chelsea was.

Some people were just meant to play certain roles.

Destiny, her father would have called it.

Stupidity was what her mother would have said.

Just thinking of how different the two had been was enough to make Natalie laugh bitterly. She had been raised with her cool mother, but had been more greatly influenced by her kind father.

How in the hell had they stood each other long enough to procreate let alone endure ten years of marriage Natalie would never know.

Sighing, Natalie swung her legs out of bed, feeling like the skin of her face weighed more than she did. Rubbing her eyes, she scrounged for a towel and a change of clothes, deciding that a shower might help her wake up.

Rubbing her face with the towel, she stepped from her tent clumsily, making a soft sound of complaint at the sunlight that was already peeping over the horizon lazily.

_Asshole_.

Yawning, Natalie lifted her head, towel lowering.

Then it hit the ground at her feet, completely forgotten. Natalie's eyes went painfully wide as she stared ahead.

"_Chelsea_!!"

~*~

A sigh broke the silence of the tent, a sleeping form rousing from the depths of the dream world into the realm of waking.

The blanket slipped off Chelsea's shoulder as she rolled over, pushing herself up sleepily. With an irritable grumble, she rubbed her face with one hand and stared down at her bed.

Through eyes hazed by sleep, she noticed something amongst the bedding that didn't belong.

"…'lexander?"

The young Outlander shifted and Chelsea drew back as he curled on himself. Reaching out, she stopped before she put her hand on him, not wanting to wake the young alien. The only problem was that he was on the side of the bed that wasn't against the wall of her tent. Making a soft sound, Chelsea awkwardly lifted her leg and knelt on his other side. Shifting her weight, she pulled her other leg over. As she mused that being dextrous with wounds was rather difficult, she set down her leg on the floor.

Or, rather, the adult alien sleeping there.

Michael let out a strange alien sound, a dolphin-like cry as he jerked awake and grabbed her ankle, yanking hard. Chelsea was pulled off her bed and collapsed across Michael's chest, forcing out a high sound of discomfort and pain from the both of them.

Both of them went motionless, however, when they heard Alexander make a sound of complaint and roll over. When it was clear he remained asleep, Chelsea pushed herself up on one hand, her other cupping her head.

"Son of a fucking bitch…"

Peering through the fall of her hair, she saw Michael's own face twisted in pain, his hand covering the curled legs on his abdomen.

"Michael?"

Blinking stupidly, she looked around, then at him. It took a moment for her to put two and two together and not get five, but her sleep hazed mind finally got there.

All she could do when she figured it out, however, was mumble, "You're in my tent."

Clever.

He blinked his eyes open, shoving his elbow against the ground to push himself up. Chelsea obligingly sat back on her knees, letting him move out from under her. She drew her knees to her chest, one hand over her stomach as she rubbed her forehead with the other, her hair bunching between her fingers as he sat awkwardly before her. It was quite clear he didn't know what to do. Then again, neither did she? What was proper etiquette between races when one fell on the other, when that other was sleeping in one's tent?

"**I hadn't meant to fall asleep…**"

The confession was quiet. Reluctant. It was clear that Michael, by now, knew that Chelsea would not hurt him, but it was just as clear he didn't know how to act around her. He was uncomfortable in the wake of the baring of his soul that night. She couldn't blame him, she supposed. She was still, after all, the enemy.

"It's alright…" She checked her hand, just making sure nothing was bleeding. Her recent luck meant she would have some sort of trauma. Things seemed brighter, though, because her hand was clean.

Then they descended into quiet awkwardness. Chelsea didn't know what to do and she was damn sure he didn't. What was proper etiquette for falling on top of an alien that was sleeping on the floor?

As the silence stretched, she could feel him drawing away from her, even though he physically didn't move.

"Just, next time you sleep over, let me make a bed for you." She gave an uncomfortable laugh. "Maybe away from where my feet go."

He blinked, staring at her, "**You're not mad?**"

"Why would I be mad? A little… disgruntled that I _stood_ on you… but other than that… No."

"**But… why**?"

Chelsea looked at him, before saying quietly, "Don't you ever stay with friends?"

Michael's mouthparts twitched as his head jerked back.

"**Y…**"

"_Chelsea_!"

The woman in question was on her feet in an instant.

"**What's going on**??"

"Alexander, stay right there, don't move. You too, Michael."

"**What**?"

Chelsea snapped the flap of her tent open, calling over her shoulder, "Just stay in… the tent…" Her words trailed off until they practically didn't exist anymore, her mouth dropping open. "Sweet Christ…"

Natalie glanced over at Chelsea, who was barely clad in her sleeping gear and apparently uncaring. She understood why.

"**Chelsea? Chelsea?**"

"**Alexander**!"

Chelsea glanced down slightly when she felt Alexander's hands on her ankle, but couldn't tear her eyes away from what was before her. She heard the tent rustle as Michael stepped out behind her, his chest almost bumping her shoulder as he emerged into the morning air, a warm breath expelled sharply from him in utter awe.

"Holy Mother of Christ…" A doctor crossed himself as he emerged between the tents with Graham and Callum, Meghan hot on their heels.

Doctors and med techs formed a mismatched line of unified amazement.

Even the MNU officers that were on dawn duty stared, their weapons held uneasily, clearly at a loss as to what to do.

Graham turned his head to the side slightly, "Chelsea?"

"Don't look at me," she whispered. "Michael…?"

"**I wish I knew**…"

Before them was a mass of Outlanders with numbers so large they vanished into the tents beyond. There were adults with young and healthy supporting ones that could barely stand. But more than the sheer number of them was the fact that they were all completely silent.

Staring.

Waiting.

Meghan stepped forward, "What's going on?"

One of the MNU officers turned towards her, "We were about to come and get you, ma'am. They just… came out of nowhere. We thought it was some sort of coup or some shit. But they just stood there. Staring… I… I don't know…"

Michael stepped around Chelsea, glancing at the MNU, who moved aside to let him through. Before he could reach his people, however, one of them stepped forward.

"**What's going on**?"

Leaning around Michael, the smaller Outlander patted his chest, looking between Chelsea and Natalie, "**Do you remember me?**"

"We gave you the…" Natalie broke off. "Uh…"

"We remember you," said Chelsea softly, pulling Alexander up into her arms.

"**I saw what you did for us. What you're trying to do. We all did.**" He glanced at Michael, then at the humans again.

One of the older ones, larger and stooped, stepped forward, "**Is it true? Have you come to help us? Are humans… are you humans going to care for us now**?"

"**It's true**."

Everyone looked at Michael who sucked in a breath, turning to look at Chelsea, who held Alexander close.

"**It's true. They're going to take care of us.**"

Chelsea smiled at him, and then at the Outlanders, nodding, "We're here to help you."

Outlanders glanced at one another, hands slapping, shaking, gesturing as the word spread. Word of the humans helping. Word of them not being there to hurt them. The buzz of voices became alien cheers, several of them jumping up and down happily.

In the back of the crowd, out of the sight of the humans, the physician Anna folded his arms over his chest and smiled, glancing over his shoulder. Behind him, the scarred one named Adam made a sound of disgust, spitting off to one side.

"**They will betray us. All humans are capable of evil. You wait.**"

With that, he turned and walked away, vanishing amongst the tent.

Anna sighed softly, shaking his head as he turned towards the front.

"**So are Outlanders.**"

At the front of the crowd, Chelsea laughed and rested her head against Alexander, who was patting her cheeks dry of tears. Michael smiled as he watched the two of them together, wondering what it would be like if it were Chelsea's child and not an Outlander.

For some reason, he couldn't see a difference.

"Alright!" Meghan slapped her hands. "Everyone get dressed and have a nice cold shower. Let's do what we came here to do, people!"

Callum made a high sound of complaint as the doctors turned towards the tents, "I wanted to sleep in!"

~*~

* * *

_Yeah. I'm discontent with this chapter, but I'm probably being nitpicky._

_Sorry for the wait, I've been spending the week with family, and I've been distracted with my unique stories and universe. My characters were feeling neglected and they're crying for my attention. And as much as I _adore_ the Outlanders, the cursed, powerful and forgotten demi-gods, the shirtless, dark and tormented Ancients, the noble, proud and equally shirtless Sidhe and the various heroines that capture their hearts in my universe are truly my babies. And my favourite one has been difficult in admitting her affection and submitting to her damn destiny. So they needed some lovin'._

_Here it is, chapter 7, Transcend. I know the fiction is slow, and I know that it's boring… but it'll pick up. Hopefully you'll stick around until then._

_In this chapter, you find out about Michael's story, about what has happened to him, but you also find something out about Chelsea. I feel that bringing Michael and Chelsea together in this moment would be like tipping them down a ramp until they had nowhere else to hit but each other. But now Michael has gotten over his most painful obstacle and he knows at least some of Chelsea's. But not all of it._

_Where will this lead? We'll see._

_Written word needs montages… Anyway!_

_My replies to my reviewers, you guys keep me going._

**_Herr Wozzeck_**_: Wikus has changed. He has. But Chelsea reminded him of Tania, and all he could see was Tania being surrounded by Outlanders, which affected his judgement. I hope I made Chelsea's reaction to Michael believable. She _wants_ to believe him, but she wants to have faith in her people as well. It was hard. And I'm glad I've inspired you! That's always awesome to hear! I hope that you enjoy what you're writing and my writing as well!_

**_Writer Apprentice_**_: Yeah. That scene stuck with me too, made me feel ill. There has to be repercussions to that, as well. And believe me, Chelsea will be leading that charge wholeheartedly. For me. I'm unashamed to say that. =) But Chelsea also knows that for the worst wounds to be healed, they must first be tended, which is always a painful process. She's a doctor and a scarred woman, after all. Hopefully she can help tend to the emotional wounds of the Outlanders and Michael._

**_Speakfire_**_: I'm glad that you like my characters! I was scared that Chelsea would turn out to be a Mary Sue, but these days all characters can be construed as a Mary Sue, so I just have to portray her well, I suppose! Michael, too, is a wonderful character and I hope both of them have a happy ending! And I feel the same for Wikus. I want to like him, but he's such an unlikeable character. But he _has_ changed. We'll see more of him later._

**_Amaruk Wolfheart of the Wraith_**_: Alexander is adorable, isn't he? He's a sort of the 'out of the mouth of babes' character. I hope you enjoyed him in this chapter, too! And the rest of the chapter, of course!_

**_Operacynic_**_: I'm sorry Chelsea made you leery and I'm very glad you stuck with it! I hope it doesn't disappoint you, now! And you might be! If they can get over the mountain of prejudice and pain between them._

**_Miss Meliss_**_: I hope this development between Michael and Chelsea was to your satisfaction. Now Chelsea knows more about Michael and Michael knows more about Chelsea, and they have Alexander as glue to stick them together, too. Nothing like a child to bring people together. Children or baby animals. I'm glad I did Wikus justice, too. It's rather hard to make an unlikeable person likeable… But I felt he needed to not be a person you can automatically be sympathetic with. In the movie his situation was bad, but he was an _ass_._

**_Gira_**_: Damn Microsoft Word and life for being so interfering! And Michael's story is very tragic and he's had no justice or comfort for all these years, and he was taking it out on Chelsea. Now he knows this, and maybe the road will be a bit smoother. I hope this chapter left you happier than the last one did!_

**_Mistah Eleganza:_**_ It's quite alright! I enjoy your eagerness! It lets me know that you really enjoy this! Don't worry, your comment made me more aware of it, as well. Don't pull back! I value your critical eye for my work! Very much so. And don't worry. I have friends in the land of ghosts. I would never disappear for long. I have too much I want to deliver. And yes, both Chelsea and Michael deserve peace and happiness, and perhaps they can find it with each other? As long as… nothing gets in the way._

_As always, if you read the chapter and liked it, please review. Just a little comment is enough to fuel me onwards. Even if you disliked it, review and tell me why. That will help me improve my writing and help me get better._

_As always, I hope that this chapter was to your satisfaction. It's smaller than the others, but I didn't want to drag out what happened too long._

_Hopefully the next one won't be as far away!_

_Love_

_Anne_


	9. Ch 8: Matters of the Heart

**Warning**: Stupidity and stubbornness abound when it comes to things of the heart.

* * *

~*~

**Chapter Eight:**

Matters of the Heart

~*~

"Look at you, panting and sweaty. I'm not even winded. We should go again."

"You're all sweaty, though."

"Doing it in heat like this will make you sweat, no matter how fit you are."

"Yes yes, we all know you have more stamina, go away."

"You sure you don't want to go again?"

"No!"

Chelsea copped a damp cloth to the face for her trouble. Laughing faintly as she pulled it off, she smiled at Natalie, who was glaring at her with a face red and sweaty after their morning jog.

"Screw you." With that, the younger woman stomped off to the showers, the trek making her breathless all over again.

It had been three weeks since the 'acceptance' of the human doctors by the Outlanders and both a lot and nothing had happened. The doctors had fit themselves into a twenty hour day routine quite efficiently. Chelsea, Natalie, Graham and Callum worked the 'afternoon' shift – and the longest one, as Callum had (un)happily pointed out – from about one in the afternoon to eight or nine depending on the days activities. Four doctors had the graveyard shift from eight ish to about two am which dealt with emergency procedures, the non-essentials that couldn't be seen to during the day and accidents. No one was on until six am unless something dramatic happened, which it had not, and then the morning shift of the final four doctors hit the clock.

They had worked their way through the patients with relative efficiency using this system, and the time was a blurred kaleidoscope of horrific evidences of abuse that no human should ever inflict. Burns, breaks, scars, even missing limbs left untended and uncared for. Though MNU had made _some_ effort in bringing doctors to District 10, which was slightly safer than District 9, the fact that they had left the Outlanders so long without proper treatment was a unanimous source of outrage for the doctors. Without asking or caring for approval, they carefully documented each and every instance of abuse and violence that had been inflicted on the Outlanders, Meghan quietly filing them away for later use.

Though shifts were consumed with surgeries and tending wounds and checking on already treated patients, much of the time between shifts was spent socializing with the Outlanders themselves. Though only some of the doctors might have been aware that their persistent and continued care for the Outlanders when their shifts were over served to ensure that there were no subtle borders erected between professional and casual interaction, it was very apparent to the Outlanders. Their genuine desire to assist was shown when they explained how to change a bandage, or would check in with patients and bring some food with them, or would personally take care of the same Outlander repeatedly. It was especially apparent when they would roll out of bed after getting barely an hour of sleep to assist in an emergency surgical procedure or with a complication.

However, by the end of the first month in District 10 most of the Outlanders had been seen to and the frenetic pace and initial shock had ebbed into a calmer, more manageable rate of care. The free hours were spent in various ways, reading or listening to music, sleeping or eating, studying or researching. Though the doctors got to know one another and formed friendships – and in the case of two of them a rather intimate relationship – their dealings with the Outlanders showed their individual personalities. Natalie proved to be much the observer and had a rather remarkable skill with sketching, often immortalizing daily scenes in grey lead pencil. Callum and Graham became good friends and often played imaginary 'I Am a Rich Bastard' poker. After a few games, they taught the Outlanders how to play, but made them swear only to bet with rocks and not actual supplies. There was a sort of bubble that the two had around one another, but every now and again the Outlanders entered it and were included in their activities. They were the main source of Outlander and human casual interactions outside of medical procedures.

The increasing comfort around one another meant that the humans and Outlanders were not only working together medically, but they were even mingling casually. It had been slow, and tentative, but it was happening. Several Outlanders appeared regularly within the camp, volunteering themselves as workers and assistants. Though initially they had been rather reluctant to work without pay, they had been stunned to learn that the humans were also working without pay. A few days previously, they had begun to eat meals with the humans. The Outlanders were fascinated with the human eating utensils and many of the doctors were fascinated by the maxillae of the Outlanders. To the point that Meghan had decreed that there would be no science over the dinner table.

One of the doctors would say grace over her meal, which had taken some explaining. The very next day, however, she had three Outlanders doing it with her. When she asked them why, they said they did not have to be religious to be thankful, and that she should not be thankful alone.

Chelsea was not the only one that had found the words quite humbling. Outlander innocence might have been used against them at one point, but truly the saying 'out of the mouth of babes' was never truer than it was in that camp, especially when it came to the driving force behind the trust of the Outlanders.

Alexander.

When Natalie and Chelsea jogged, Alexander would often join them, and pretend to be tired long before he should be so one of the two women would carry them on her back. The young Outlander was often delighted by Chelsea pretending to bench press him or Graham using him as a barbell. He proved highly agile and was quite comfortable being held by one leg as he wrestled with the doctors. He had fit in quickly with the camp life, and his acceptance of them and their acceptance of him had allowed the adults to integrate more easily.

It had been Alexander's guileless trust that had allowed the doctors to know what to do and what to not do in regards to the Outlanders, their society courtesies as well as their taboos. Doctors indulging him by picking him up and feeding him and playing with him had also coaxed other young Outlanders, many of whom were orphans. Unlike humans, child-rearing was always done by a single parent, mostly because only one parent was required for actual reproduction. If that parent died, the older, single members of society would care for the orphaned child but, according to Michael, there were many orphans and not many elders. Caring for one child at the prime age could be hard, but two or three as an elder was supremely difficult.

One of the female doctors and some med techs had set up a daycare sort of system where they would care for about ten or twenty orphaned young a day and give their older guardians a respite. Something that Chelsea honestly thought would be a simple act had turned out to be one that was one of the greatest in regards to the Outlanders trusting them. Although Chelsea was not directly involved in the daycare system, she and many others were relentlessly roped in to help by a doctor that turned out to be a terrifying woman when it came to duty.

In one instance Callum had been overwhelmed with them as they used him as a jungle gym, bringing him down with a muffled, "So… many… children!"

From Alexander himself, and from others, the doctors learned much about Outlander physiological and psychological development, more than MNU would have cared to learn. Not only was the average life span of Outlanders about three hundred years, it turned out that Outlanders physically matured much faster than they psychologically matured. Oh they could have the brainpower of a rocket scientist at the equivalent mental age of five, but emotionally they remained young for a very long time.

Alexander himself was only four years old, and would be physically mature within another two or three. However, despite being physically fully grown, he would retain the mental capacity equivalent to a human twelve year old and would still require care and guidance from a parental figure for another ten years. Usually at that age, they would be tutored in the ways of things by all the older members of society as they could then provide food and care for themselves, but such tutelage was markedly absent from the District 10 society. The reason for this, and the reason for the directionless nature of the Outlanders was explained over dinner one evening by their Outlander 'co-workers'. It was a revelation that was both shocking and horrifying.

The reason that the Outlanders of District 10 were so naïve was not because they were _stupid_ as the world believed.

It was because they were all _young_.

Even Michael was the equivalent of about twenty five years of age.

Seventy percent of the Outlander population was equivalent to between the ages of thirteen and twenty, exceedingly disproportionate, according to Anna, to the normal ratio of age in their societies. There were smatterings of younger and much older, but they were few and far in between, and as such could not form a coherent society the way they normally would have. It meant that District 10 was like a massive concentration camp of technologically advanced but relatively innocent and inexperienced teenagers. Two million of them.

On a good day, for humans, that was beyond disastrous.

It explained much, to think of Outlanders as frightened teenagers, and it also heightened the depravity of what MNU had done to them. To children. Stupidity was replaced with naiveté. Violence was replaced with fear. Innocence surmounted everything. With one revelation, the doctor's whole perception of the Outlanders changed dramatically. They were not another race to be studied and learned. They were the _children_ of another race to be _protected_.

Or, at least, that was what Chelsea thought.

It was, however, a scary thought indeed, because without their helplessness and naiveté, the Outlanders could have physically and technologically dominated mankind in less than a year with terrifying ease.

Their potential for harm was shown when twice Adam and several other Outlanders had attacked the camp with the intent to hurt or kill the doctors. The first time, two of the MNU guard had been killed, five Outlanders had also died and several of the doctors had been badly scuffed and frightened. Meghan had told them that anyone that didn't feel willing to continue on with the present level of danger could leave. Though one of them had debated the decision seriously, none of them had left. The MNU guard had been doubled and each and every Outlander had been treated with a large dose of suspicion for the next few days.

The second attack, Michael had been there and, for the first time in history, likely, MNU guards and an Outlander fought together. There were no casualties to either side, although Michael had been wounded by his own kind. Chelsea had had to all but strap him down for her to look at his injuries. Whereas with other Outlanders she would have simply let him run off and refuse treatment, she had held on to one of his antennae until he acquiesced.

She knew, in that moment, that Michael would never actually hurt her. Not ever. She had thought it before, but the knowledge, the _knowing_, had changed something.

But that change also meant that the calmness that had descended over District 10 was not reflected in Chelsea. The source of her disquiet was obvious to everyone. Michael. His constant one eighties of emotions. His yo yoing back and forth between being friendly to her and hating her. The more that Chelsea learned about him, the less she understood his actions. The less she understood him. At the same time as she found more and more to like about him, he seemed ever more persistent in finding something wrong with her, to a point where she wanted to beat her head against the nearest hard surface. He was confusing and frustrating and it was throwing her for a loop. She didn't know how to fix the current rift between them.

She didn't even know if she wanted to anymore.

"Chelsea."

Ripped from wherever she had gone, Chelsea spun around with wide eyes to see who had spoken to her. Graham stood right behind her, a bottle of water raised towards her, looking highly amused.

Chelsea arched a brow as she accepted it. "What?"

"You realize I called your name three times, standing right here, and you didn't even twitch? I was about to brain you with the bottle to see if _that_ got your attention."

"Do it and die, little man."

"Short jokes. Aren't we past that?"

His feigned hurt made her laugh and she shook her head. Graham had initially gone cold towards Chelsea after the first night Michael spent in her tent. A small part of her had wondered if he thought she and Michael were having kinky alien time, but she didn't have the courage to ask. Thankfully Graham seemed to have worked it out on his own and was much more receptive of Michael.

Graham and Chelsea's relationship had also improved. They had started up a friendly rivalry when it came to their physical fitness. The reason for Chesea's physique became apparent when they had finally settled in; the woman worked out like an Amazon. Sit ups, push ups, jogging. When Graham had discovered the lengths she went to keep herself in top shape, he had immediately set about out-doing her. Though he was playful about it, Chelsea was sure his ego was slightly stung when he realized just _how_ fit she was and how hard she worked to keep it that way.

She had jokingly said that women had to work twice as hard to look half as good once they had pushed out a little person. The revelation that Chelsea had, at some point, had a child, had been quite surprising for some.

She never mentioned it again, and nor did they, but they did wonder.

"So what were you thinking about?"

"Michael."

To his credit, Graham simply tilted his head as if asking her to elaborate.

Chelsea made a sound of dismissal and lifted a shoulder, "Nothing. Just wondering how I'm going to fix this latest thing that's wrong between us."

Graham pushed his lips out and arched his brows, "He does have a good knack of finding something wrong with _something_ you've done, Chelsea."

"Oh thank you, Graham," she said shortly. "That makes me feel so much better."

"You really don't get it, do you?" he murmured, looking confused.

"Subject change!" said Chelsea suddenly, eyes widening. "Why did you pop my personal musing bubble, short stuff?"

The look that Graham passed her was disgruntled before he accepted the new conversational direction. "MNU wants a monthly update from all of the doctors detailing their activities." His disgruntled expression only further soured when he folded his arms over his chest. "To minute detail."

And here she was thinking it would be a _pleasant_ change. "How minute?"

"As in the amount, time and global location of your last piss."

Chelsea pursed her lips to stop a wry smile crossing her face, uncapping the water, "It'll be amusing if someone offers a location other than the latrines."

"I was thinking of going for the mess tent."

Chelsea barked a laugh.

Another thing that Graham and Chelsea had established was that she was not shy about crude humour and language. Though she was one of those 'don't swear in polite company' people, she could do a sailor proud at times. Came from growing up in the country of Australia, she claimed.

She lowered a brow as a thought occurred to her, bottle halfway to her lips. "Why all of a sudden? I didn't know about any sort of update when I signed on."

Graham shrugged, "Beats me."

"Mysterious MNU," Chelsea wiggled the fingers of her free hand. "They're up to something."

"They're a world-wide corporate body. They're _always_ up to something. If they're not up to something, they're out of business."

Chelsea hissed out a sound of dark amusement and took a drink from the bottle. Her eyes strayed to one side of the camp where an even section of dirt had been marked out as a rough soccer field. A group of Outlanders were kicking around a soccer ball and an exhausted group of humans were slumped to one side, obviously having been defeated in honourable combat. "Nn. But you think they'd know better than to screw around with the Outlanders."

"As long as we rely on MNU for resources, funding, _food_, they're going to have their noses in _everything_. So maybe it's not the Outlanders. Maybe it's _us_."

"Now you know why I prefer letters to emails." She tipped her bottle to him to mark her statement. "With letters, you _know_ when they've been opened."

During the second week there had been a delivery that consisted of miscellaneous items for the doctors, mostly gifts from their friends and family. These included a soccer ball, an Aussie Rules football – that no one except Chelsea still knew how to kick properly – a punching bag, a racquetball post and several other sports items. What had ensued was a highly entertaining week of teaching the Outlanders to play sports, and then the humans being thoroughly beaten in them due to the superior physiology of the Outlanders.

That delivery also contained many letters from friends and family, although the internet had been connected a day or so prior. Nevertheless, letters were treasured and welcomed and many doctors, Chelsea among them, continued to get and send them despite the internet. She had great fun writing to her niece most of all, whose innocent mind was awash with wonder at her aunt going to help 'the aliens'. She had sent many drawn pictures of her aunt holding hands with rough sketches of Outlanders, and Chelsea had sent return pictures of Natalie's sketches and even some of Alexander's drawings using Natalie's supplies.

"You don't really think they're reading our emails, do you?"

Chelsea shrugged, "Maybe I'm being paranoid, but to suddenly ask for reports to me means they want to find out something and they haven't yet."

"That _does_ sound paranoid."

"You're the military man. Aren't you supposed to be the paranoid one?"

"No. I'm just the brainless grunt that does what he's told. Conspiracy theories make my head hurt."

"Aaah. Now everything makes so much more sense." The two lapsed into quiet laughter, before Chelsea sobered.

"MNU is not a company that does not like to be in control," she said quietly, lowering the bottle. "They control the military. They control trade. They control the Outlanders. I know the hard way that they react badly to control being taken from them, even in the smallest way. Maybe I _am_ being paranoid, but experience tells here. If we were doing what MNU wanted, they would leave us alone, the ants in the ant farm. But when we start making tunnels where they can't see, they're going to poke around until they can map it out again."

Graham stared at her in silence, before turning to look out over District 10, "Do you really think that?"

"People of power can be relatively predictable, Graham."

He clicked his tongue, before saying quietly, "But then that begs the question, doesn't it? What have we done to make them think their control is threatened?"

Chelsea inhaled quietly, "Who knows?" She took another drink. "Probably pissed in the wrong location. Would explain why the MNU guards seem to be giving us the stink eye."

It was true, though, what Graham had said. MNU controlled everything the doctors needed and they relied wholly on the company for the continuation of their endeavour. If they pissed them off too much, they could withdraw funding, or even withdraw the doctors. The political repercussions of that, of course, could be phenomenal. Or they could be nonexistent. It was a disconcerting thought, to be so dependent on them.

The worst thing was, of course, they _knew_ that.

Meghan had been in talks with MNU about better facilities such as running water, electricity, some sort of plumbing system to reduce the waste build up and a permanent hospital, but the company was dragging its feet. Meghan herself spent most of her time holed up in her tent, talking to various people through some sort of private communication line. When asked, Meghan merely said that she was trying to get more funding to get the facilities she requested, and perhaps be independent of their reliance on MNU.

If you asked Chelsea, that was a cause worth fighting for.

As it was, Chelsea had become almost the unofficial replacement for Meghan. Though Meghan took care of many of the administrative duties, Chelsea was the go-to person for the hands-on work. Though she had been rather uncomfortable with the role, it had made sense. She was the most integrated with Outlander society, had the most to do with them on a casual basis. She had earned their trust first and more than any other doctor since.

Callum had cheekily stated it was also because, after Meghan, she was the oldest female in the camp, which had earned him a solid cuff for his troubles.

Anna, the Outlander physician who was quite comfortable with being referred to as 'she', was the most valuable asset to Chelsea's impromptu 'command' at the encampment. At first Anna had been tentative in venturing into the encampment and sharing the exact workings of Outlander physiology, but apparently Michael had talked her into going to the camp.

She had been welcomed by Graham with open arms – figuratively since he had been in the process of gnawing on a bread roll and carrying something – which had surprised her. What had surprised her even more was the way the doctors happily taught her about their medical equipment. All of which Anna was in the process of improving, amazingly since all she had to work with was cat food cans and tin snips. They had been very patient with her caution and eagerly learned from her in return all they could about Outlanders and how best to treat them. Thankfully, the similarities between physiology that allowed them to survive on Earth also allowed for there to be similarities in treatment, although several drugs had to be discarded when there were adverse effects to the Outlanders.

Back in the present, Graham laughed and shook his head, "It's this heat. Everyone's brain is going to hell."

"Heat? What heat? It's not that hot."

"Riight. Australia. I forgot."

"I've spent the last three years in the savannah, Graham. This is _nice _weather."

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Well I guess it must be hard for Callum to endure, then. His brain must be fried."

"At least it's not something vital."

Callum, of course, chose that exact moment to step within earshot. He stopped with one foot in the air, brows flattening into a scowl as he turned to look at them. "One of these days, could you please say somethin' nice about me?"

"We'll try," Chelsea turned and smiled at him. "But my mother raised me never to lie."

"Oh, aye, pick on the Scottish man. Graham. I'm going to go eat all of your food. Goodbye."

But instead of moving off, Graham stepped closer to Chelsea, grasping her elbow, "I'm probably going to regret this, later. Listen, about Michael."

Chelsea closed her eyes and rubbed her face with her free hand, "Graham I really don't want to hear it."

"It isn't what you think, Chelsea." He folded his arms over his chest, muscles in his arms bunching. "I don't know what's going on in your head, but this has to stop. It's okay for you and Michael to be friends, you know."

Chelsea's brows arched, "Well thank you for your approval…?" Her head cocked to the side.

"It's not about my approval, Chelsea. It's about you and him. I don't think it's a species barrier between the two of you. I think its you."

"Me," she repeated.

"Yeah. You're not seeing what's right in front of you."

"And what is that?"

"Michael only has a problem with _you_, and you're the only one that is suffering because of that."

Chelsea smacked her lips and nodded, brows arched, "Thanks for the talk, Graham. My eyes are open."

"Waaaait," he grabbed her elbow as she started to leave. "That's not what I meant. Shit. I'm sorry. It might not be weird for you but it's weird for me." He heaved a breath. "Listen, we're all getting along swimmingly without Michael."

"Swimmingly?"

"Chelsea."

She ducked her head, contrite, "Sorry."

Graham expelled an exasperated breath, "Bottom line, Chelsea, the only one he tries to pick apart in this whole camp is _you_. And the only one that has a problem with that is _you_. It's got nothing to do with why you're here, and it's got nothing to do with the rest of us. You stopped being a doctor to him a long time ago, but he's trying to remind himself that you're here for a cause. Here for a reason. And I think because you try to remind _yourself_ of that, it makes it all the more easy. So stop being a doctor, Chelsea. Be a person."

"I don't even know what's wrong," she said softly. "How can I know how to fix it if I don't know what's wrong?"

"That's the doctor talking," Graham pointed at her. "But I'll give you a hint. If you ask me, all this picking he's been doing at you, this sabotaging, it's because he's desperately trying to find a reason _not_ to like you. Because he _does_."

Chelsea scowled at him, lips parting, but Graham cut her off. "Friendship between humans and Outlanders might not just be weird for _us_, Chelsea."

And Chelsea was ashamed to realize that she hadn't thought of that.

"But I'm all pep-talked out, now," Graham slapped her shoulder and turned, walking off, "And if Callum ate my food whilst I was giving you a pep talk, I'm eating yours."

Chelsea watched him go, feeling decidedly off kilter. With a muted groan, she pressed her forearms to her head and tilted it back.

_I'm such an idiot_.

But even as she stood there, she realized that she had been thinking as Michael like Graham had described. As a cause. As a means to the success of their endeavour. And that wasn't true. They were indeed working fine without him, and maybe she was using it an excuse to… to what?

To try and make it seem less weird?

Turning away, Chelsea let her mind wander to the few nights before, to the most recent fight between herself and Michael. She had gone to her shift and returned exhausted and tired, meaning her temper was short. So when she entered her tent to find her notes scattered on her desk and Michael leaning over them, it had snapped like a breaking bone.

"**What are **_**these**_?!" he shook a fistful of papers at her in accusation.

"How the _hell_ did you get those?"

"**You think hiding them would have allowed you to continue**?" Even angry he ensured to speak slowly so she could understand him. Or maybe he did it so he wouldn't have to repeat himself.

"I didn't _hide_ them, Michael, but they damn sure weren't _on_ my desk. You can't go through my things like that without my permission!" She tried to snatch them back, but he merely lifted them above her head, out of her reach. Like a child, she jumped once, then simply stared at him angrily.

"**And why not when it helps me discover your motives?!**"

"Because it is an invasion of _privacy, _Michael! Give me back my notes this instant. I am not doing any harm! I'm trying to _help_-"

"**Privacy. You hide things from me, Chelsea. You cannot trust me with yourself, how can I trust you with me**?!"

"I've already trusted you with me!"

"**No you haven't! You've been studying me! Like some experiment**!"With that, he tossed the papers at her and stormed out of the tent.

She raced after him, standing in the dark and shouting that he was being a child and that he should make up his damn mind about how he felt. Then she stormed back into her tent in a huff of rage and cleaned up her notes.

It wasn't until Alexander came to her that she calmed, and then felt stupid for yelling at Michael.

Granted much of the beginning notes had been about Michael, but after she had gotten to know him over the weeks she felt uncomfortable and had generalized the notes to Outlanders. Michael had never factored into her observations after that unless he was directly teaching her something.

But it had been three days since the event and no one had seen a thing of Michael.

Thinking about it now, with the information Graham had imparted on her, the perspective radically changed. Though Chelsea had seen the logic in what she had done, Michael had seen the betrayal. Every time he thought she was treating him equally, she became a doctor again. Distanced. Removed.

If he liked her, and he felt in any way disturbed by that like…

"Aaaaargh!" Chelsea whirled and stomped to her tent.

She swept aside the tent flap and turned, collapsing backwards onto her bed with an inarticulate cry that summed up everything she was feeling. Dropping the water bottle to one side – and panicking for a moment before she checked to see it was, indeed, capped – she pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes and tried to pres them out of the back of her skull. There, in the confines of her tent, where she didn't have to hide her emotions, she let her thoughts turn to Michael without inhibition.

She had to admit that the reasons she wanted to patch things up with Michael were not professional ones. If they were professional reasons, she could swallow her pride and apologize to him. But Chelsea was _angry_ that Michael thought so low of her. Every chance he got, he turned her into a monster, and she was tired of it. So to have him sabotaging her efforts… sabotaging _her_ at every turn was _painful_.

In the beginning, she thought she had understood, and maybe in the beginning she _had_ understood, but it was clear that things hadn't changed just for her. They had changed for Michael too. She had never thought how hard being a friend with a human would be for _him_.

Did that make her naïve? Or selfish?

Or did the thought that it was hard for him make it patronising?

_This is why it was easier to be a doctor_!

She had thought they were becoming friends. She had thought they were progressing. But every step forward they took, they took five backwards, until she was left kicking at the gates and shouting through the lock.

What made matters worse was that those single steps forward showed her how much she really liked Michael. Showed her how amazing he really was.

Almost every night, after her shift, sometimes after a meal or taking one privately together, Chelsea and Michael would sit where they originally had and simply talk until one or the other grew too tired. Usually Chelsea. Often they would then relocate to her tent where they would continue talking until she fell asleep, either with Alexander or without him as he slept in another tent, likely with Natalie.

Sometimes Michael had still been there when she woke up, asleep or quietly reading one of the many books she had ordered for him. He was highly fascinated by human religion and belief, most especially Taoism.

Sometimes he would bid her farewell and let her go about the morning doing whatever as he returned to District 10. Sometimes he would stay and help around the camp. Graham had initially been leery of the much larger Outlander, but Michael had patiently won him over. Natalie adored him and her tent was littered with drawings of Chelsea, Michael and Alexander. Callum was just resentful that Michael had the best poker face around, although his left antennae did twitch every now and again.

It took Callum a long time for him to realize that Michael was deliberately doing that and the revelation had been _highly_ entertaining.

Chelsea had enjoyed watching him interact with the humans. Enjoyed learning his mannerisms. Enjoyed just spending time with him. More than she had with anyone in a long time.

He explained that this was because his 'type' was physically larger and dominant. In past times, long past, he would have been among the lead warriors of their tribes that would walk across the plains of his homeland. He would fight against other tribes for territory and keep his own tribe in check. Graham had described Michael as an 'alpha male', and when she had explained this term to him (as a mono-gendered race he had a hard time grasping it) he asked her if she was an alpha female.

Despite Chelsea's laughing explained that Meghan was the alpha female, but Michael remained sceptical. He did, however, watch Meghan far more closely afterwards.

But more significant in Michael and Chelsea's growing friendship, was their ability to learn one another. Through Chelsea, Michael had a greater understanding of human traditions, and learned of a world far beyond Johannesburg, where violence and war was rife, but there was also goodness and kindness. To demonstrate this, Chelsea coaxed Michael into having a webcam conversation with her brother, his wife and his daughter, much to her niece's delight.

But Chelsea was more delighted by Michael's reaction to her brother's family. About how he and her brother had connected and conversed.

Chelsea learned that Michael was a far gentler soul than he first appeared. He had an appreciation for the finer things. Most especially Alexander. It seemed that the Outlander had unofficially and unconsciously adopted the youngling. Often the two were seen wandering together. Foraging through garbage much to the doctor's consternation, or Michael taking on the role of a parent to teach Alexander. Chelsea absolutely loved seeing them together, the much larger and darker Michael bent over Alexander as they spoke quietly. More than once she saw two humans in their place and those times brought painful but blissful tears to her eyes. A time or two Michael would join Chelsea and any others on a walk, scooping up Alexander as he did so, and they would lapse into happy conversation.

She was an adult and though she was _damn_ good at hiding things from herself, this was all glaringly obvious. She enjoyed Michael's company. She missed him when he was gone. She was upset when he was angry at her. She did like him. A lot.

Amazing how she and Michael dealt with that though. She hid behind her professionalism, and he sabotaged her.

She wondered if he knew that.

Now that Graham had removed the safety net of professionalism, Chelsea was left dangling out over a void. He had told her to stop being a doctor and go be a person with Michael. But Michael was a part of a whole different world, and Chelsea didn't even know how to be a person in her own.

She didn't come to District 10 for emotional complications. She didn't come to Africa for emotional complications. She left her damn country to run away from her emotions. To run away from her heart. And here, in Africa, matters of the heart caught up to her.

Anyone that knew Chelsea Grant well knew that she was about as intelligent as a starving dog with a bear trap laced with meat when it came to emotions.

Lowering her hand, she felt along the chain at her throat and grasped the locket and the gold ring that were attached to it.

_I could use a little help here, guys, if it's not too much trouble._

"**Hi**!"

"Son of a-"

Chelsea sat up, causing Alexander to fall back, blinking up at her. Her mouth opened and closed several times, before she whimpered and fell back.

"Hey, Alexander." She held out her arm. Nimbly, he latched onto her wrist, swung himself up and landed against her chest. She patted his back and hugged him for a moment, coaxing him to lie down.

"**I'm lying on your chest.**"

She laughed, "It's okay for you to do that when we're hugging."

"**Oh, okay.**"

Chelsea chuckled as she remembered the lessons in decorum they had to give to the Outlanders, all stemming from an innocent breast-squeeze that had a med tech squealing to high heaven. Apparently interacting with hookers was not a good way to learn the 'do not touch zones'.

Originally Alexander's words and statements had been short and lacking the wording of whole, coherent sentences. But as Alexander taught Chelsea about his language, he also was learning how to phrase things better. Michael often served as their teacher in both things.

Michael _again_! She couldn't escape him!

Alexander sat up on her chest, knees drawn up against his own, "**We need to talk.**"

Chelsea scowled behind the arm she had thrown over her face, "Uh oh. Again."

"**You and Michael fighting again.**"

Chelsea swore inwardly. He sounded like a child whose parents were arguing. Considering the situation, she couldn't blame him. But she didn't know how to fix it. She shifted until she was sitting up and set him on her lap.

"**Are you mad at him**?"

"A little."

"**Why**?"

Chelsea pursed her lips, wondering if she should tell Alexander, or shield him. She opted to shield him. "We had an argument, is all. We argue a lot."

"**I know **_**that**_**.**" Like she had told him the sky was blue."**But Michael never argues with humans. He does as he's told. He hates it, but he does it. But he argues with you. He cares what you think.**"

Chelsea pursed her lips, before admitting, "I know. Now I do. And I care what he thinks, too. And him thinking bad about me hurts me. And I don't know how to fix it."

"**Well… does he know he hurts your feelings**?"

She went still at the innocent question, before looking at Alexander with a furrowed brow, "What do you mean?"

With seriousness that was almost amusing, Alexander drew himself up like a university lecturer and placed his hands on Chelsea's forearms, "**When Outlanders feel emotions, we let out smells that let other Outlanders know what we feel. We always do it. But humans smell the same almost all the time, so sometimes we don't know how you feel or what you're thinking, because you don't always let us know with face expressions.**"

Chelsea's lips parted as Alexander continued with the graveness of a parent telling their child that Santa didn't exist, "**Maybe Michael doesn't know he hurt you. Because MNU protects you.**"

"MNU doesn't prot-"

"**Yes it does. We all know that if any of the doctors are hurt, MNU will hurt us back. So that protects you. Even when you trust Michael not to hurt you, he thinks it's because of MNU. Maybe you should just tell him that's not it. Maybe you should tell him that he hurt your heart. Maybe you should tell him that you care what he thinks.**"

_And the idodicy increases_.

Once again Chelsea was presented with information that made everything so very different. Information that should have been glaringly obvious. Chelsea claimed that she was reaching out to Michael, when she really wasn't. She had been placed there, and the Outlanders' acceptance had been a thing of inevitability.

She was not sure about her relationship with Michael so she stayed in the safe place of professionalism, keeping him at arm's reach with her doctor's persona, which she could only assume was causing him no end of angst.

They were spiralling down a drain of miscommunication and light-stepping and someone was going to have to take a jump into the deep end. The problem, however, was that Chelsea had closed that door firmly behind her. Emotion, friendship, caring. She had locked them away and immersed herself in professionalism.

Why was it that the first person she had reached out to in almost five years, however, was someone that was not only not of her own species, but seemed very committed to finding reasons to hate her.

Desperate to divert herself, she refocused on Alexander. "Do… Outlanders really smell different for their emotions?"

"**Yep.**"

"I guess that means you can't hide how you feel, right?"

"**Why would we want to? Wouldn't we want the ones we care for to know if we were sad**?"

_Out of the mouth of babes_…

"But… I don't know how Michael is feeling…"

"**I do.**" Alexander moved to sit beside Chelsea, mimicking her pose. "**When he's with you, he's happy, but he's also confused. When he's not with you, he's kind of sad, but even more confused. When he meets you, he gets excited, but he's confused. When you fight, he's upset, and angry, and confused. Lots of confused. I like it best when all three of us are together, though.**"

Chelsea had her eyes closed as she rasped, "Why?"

"**Because he smells like my dad did.**"

Muffling a soft sound, Chelsea put her hand over her eyes. Christ. Could she feel like any more of an idiot. Graham was right. Alexander was right. Michael had picked up on her professionalism like a beacon in the darkness. It explained his one eighties in emotion. It explained his need to sabotage her, so he could stop liking her. It explained everything. If Outlanders were blatant in their emotions, Chelsea's emotional distance because of her constant shielding behind her professionalism would make it seem like he was the only one that really cared. Make it seem like she just thought of him as a cause.

Which was why he was angry when he found the notes. Because it thrust in his face the fact that she seemed to think of him only as an experiment. As something to be studied.

And, as Graham had said, a like between a human and an Outlander wouldn't just be weird for _her_. She, to whom he was simply an alien. Whereas to him, she was an alien that was of the same race as the source of all of his misery and greatest tragedies of the past thirty years.

"I am such an _idiot_."

"**Oh, I don't think so. Idiots don't learn, but you're learning.**"

Chelsea laughed quietly and hugged Alexander, holding him close.

"**Please don't tell Michael I told you.**"

"I won't." Chelsea leant back and stared down at Alexander. "But I need you to do one more thing for me."

"**What?**" Guileless innocence and a desire to help shone from his large eyes.

"Can you tell me where Michael lives?"

~*~

Later, Chelsea walked through the tents of District 10, examining the map in her hand. Alexander had marked where Michael had lived, and _damn_ if it wasn't a good distance from the doctor's encampment.

Strange, as she stared at the map, all she could think of was how far Michael had run to save her from Adam.

Chelsea had a pack thrown over her back that was, amazingly, not full of medical supplies. Oh it _did_ have some in there, but it had food, mostly, as well as several other items. And a radio in case someone needed to make sure she was alive. Most specifically Graham. Chelsea had left the camp with specific orders to Natalie and Alexander not to tell _anyone_ where she was going until the shift started. Chelsea felt she was being _highly_ irresponsible to shirk her duties as a doctor to pay a social visit to Michael, but she wanted… she _needed_ him to know that he was important to her.

And that meant that she needed to do more than reach. She needed to bare herself to him and pray to God and all His angels that he wouldn't tear her apart. Something that became a little more real than symbolic when Alexander had said that Michael did _not_ like people visiting his tent, which was why it was mostly on its own.

Chelsea might have been protected by MNU, but in the depths of District 10, where no one but Alexander knew exactly where she was, she could be killed and eaten in an instant, without a trace of her body ever being found.

Physical vulnerability abounded, but that was not what she wanted. Well, what she wanted to do didn't really matter right now. And she had no plan whatsoever. But she knew that she couldn't let this continue. It wasn't fair on Michael and she was damn well tired of it herself.

She was just terrified of what would happen to her. She only hoped that this would work, because if it didn't, it would probably destroy her all over again.

Alexander had told her a route that would take her through the less populated areas of District 10, where she could avoid being alone with Outlanders that didn't trust the humans. In rough translation, Michael lived in a 'rough' part of District 10, surrounded by Outlanders that would once have been gang members, or did illegal things in District 9 for benefits of food or money.

As Chelsea walked, she realized she was walking through the Outlander equivalent of a ghetto, alone and unarmed. A part of her wished she knew how to shoot a sidearm so she could have brought it, just for added security, but she wasn't sure how Michael would respond to that.

_Oh god I'm an idiot_. She stopped suddenly, staring at the map. She was walking _alone_ in District 10. Previously she had a very large Outlander with her, or a young Outlander that served to be as great protection. Even her jogs had been through areas of District 10 that were easily accessible and open, where they couldn't really be ambushed by angry Outlanders, and they _always_ changed the exact time and location.

But now Chelsea was in real danger.

She was being _stupid_ and she knew it. She was doing all of this wholly because she liked Michael. Yes. She acknowledged those twinges and aches and disconcerting emotions she felt indicated that she liked him. She was old enough to admit it. And if she thought that was disturbing, God above only knew what Michael felt, because according to Alexander, he _did_ like her, too.

"Nothin's ever simple is it?" she muttered as she started forward again.

Sometimes, matters of the heart meant you had to stop listening to your head.

She just hoped it didn't get her killed.

The irony of such a death was not lost on her at all.

~*~

* * *

_Waaait!_ *Puts up a plexiglass shield and hides behind it.* _Okay. Now you can throw vegetables._

_Really, though, I'm terribly sorry that this has taken so long for me to get this chapter up. It's not super long, and it's not super great, and it's not super… well anything really. In fact, I feel like I'm a supreme disappointment by giving you this emotional drivel. Blaaah. I feel like I have to write something with blood and guts to just purify myself… I dunno. I'm just in a flat mood right now._

_I've been playing Dragon Age: Origins on my 360 recently and as some of you might have seen I've been a wee bit consumed. I can assure you that it will happen again when Mass Effect 2 comes out. Bioware, I love thee. Not only that, but I have lost the internet at my apartment, and I'm not going to be able to get it back up until mid-Feb. I'm with my family for a month or so with the electronic torture known as dial-up on a five year old computer that's probably virused enough to retry that Y2K thing. So that's my bucket of excuses for all of you… Give me time. I'm sure I can think of more._

_I have also been working on my own stuff. I have aspirations to be a published author, hopefully before I die, and though I have an abundance of ideas, my problem lies with commitment. So when I go on sprees, I just stick with it. I apologize if that has caused anyone waiting for the next chapter any sort of frustrations._

_But! Enough of that. Here it is, the next chapter of A Cage of Butterflies, with Chelsea finally realizing that she's a moron. Yaay!_

… _She's not a Mary Sue. *Wraps her arms defensively around Chelsea and pets her.* Shh. Shh. There there. You're not a Mary Sue…_

_Is she?_

_*Wiggles the knife that is buried deep in her self-confidence.*_

_Anyway! My own insecurities about my character creations aside, and my quiet desperate hopes that she will appear less Mary Sue-ish in coming chapters, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. There was another bit at the end but I realized it would be better served in the next chapter. I think. Maybe..._

_I hope I covered everything that people might think of. Indeed, this chapter became vastly different to what it originally was. In fact, originally it was simply a montage of sorts of how things changed, but I realized that a sudden blossoming friendship between Chelsea and Michael would be wholly against their personalities. Mostly because Michael would definitely _not_ be okay with being friends with a human, and Chelsea has spent the last few years running away from her emotions, so to suddenly make friends would be strange for her. Even with Natalie, Graham and Callum, she is quite distanced. She hasn't told anyone about herself really and she maintains a very professional relationship. Though she isn't ashamed of what happened to her, she isn't going to advertise it._

_Some of you have had theories about what happened to her, and they have been some very interesting ones. Whether or not they're accurate, you're going to find out. Maaaybe in the next chapter. Maybe not. We'll see! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon, but really it's probably just going to be full of angst and WAFF. And WIkus! Yay Wikus! He _will_ be in the next chapter._

_Aaand holy chocolate truffles, Batman, I almost forgot the review replies!_

_**Herr Wozzeck**: Wow. That's... Well. I can't say it's anything that dramatic at all, really. But you'll find out what happened to Chelsea's family soon. I hope you'll be satisfied with it. And yes, with great acts of evil come great acts of good. In desperate times there are greater feats of heroism. And sometimes real heroism and real sacrifice is overlooked. Humans can be terrible, but they can be wonderful to, and hopefully Chelsea can teach the Outlanders that. Also, Callum is the best comedic relief character. I adore him. Thank you for reading and I hope you liked this chapter!_

_**Buddhabread**: Thank you for your kind words! It's always nice to know I can deliver with my technique. Especially since it's my chosen profession! I'm glad that the side characters are so enjoyable and I do hope you'll be able to love Chelsea. She's a well-rounded character who has been through a lot of soul-searching to get to where she is, but she still has a bit of hard-headedness and innocence about her, but the world needs people like that. She was also shaped to be a character that the Outlanders could connect to. But she's not... too Mary Sue ish, is she? ... is she? Regardless, thank you for stickig with it and I hope the fiction is worth it for you! I don't want to ruin it with a Mary Sue ish character. ... She's not THAT bad, is she? It's more that she's been through a lot and where characters would progress to by the end of the story, she's already there, and is starting another chapter and oh my I realize I'm trying to justify her... Ugh... I'm sorry. I hope this chapter wasn't boring for you... And yes, I've seen a lot of Christopher and Wikus fics, but I could never get my head around them. To me, their story is said and done, and there is a whole lot more potential in District 10. I'm just saying that's to me. I haven't really been able to take a look at any other fics. And I'm sorry I took so long. *Shakes her bucket of excuses.* Lucky dip? The next one will be sooner!_

_**Writer's Apprentice**: I'm glad that Chelsea's personality read well. As I wrote, I realized not everyone was a jaded cynic like me and she would likely have _some_ faith in humanity. I couldn't take it all away. As for Alexander, he's probably easier for Chelsea to accept because rather than an alien, she sees a child, and as much as she would hate to admit it, he's probably a replacement for her own lost child. So to her it's not at all difficult to protect and care for him. And the relationship between Chelsea, Michael and Alexander is something I totally could not resist. As for the Outlanders accepting them, I felt it might have been too abrupt, but I needed to get the ball rolling. So much yet to come! I hope you liked this chapter, even though it focused mostly on Chelsea._

_**Gira**: Oh, Adam will be causing a lot more trouble yet. He definately wants Chelsea dead_._ I'm glad that the moment sold so well for you. I realized that Jeremy had been introduced and hadn't been really doing anything since, so I thought he could be spreading the word of the kindness of the humans. Huzzah! It worked! I hope you liked this chapter!_

_**MissMeliss**: Christmas, New Years, bushfires and freaky thunderstorms. Ahh, Australia. *Waves.* At least you're on the bloody Gold Coast. Surf, sand and sun you lucky - aaaanyway. I have to admit I'm one of those people that _hates_ 'convenient interruptions'. They have me raging at the sky and wanting to flick forward in the book to find out what exactly is going on! Although I am guilty of using them, they are usually brief. And rare. Very, very rare. So no! No convenient interruption! Just Chelsea stalling in telling her own story. I'm glad that you're so hooked on it, though! Don't worry! It's coming soon! And yes, you may need tissues, but I'm not sure. Stock up just in case. And keep an eye on Adam. He's not going to be playing nice._

_**GeffyB:** I'm glad you like it! It's good to know that I'm making a story you can thoroughly enjoy! It means I succeed at my task! I hope it keeps being entertaining for you, even if it is a bit slow..._

_**Swift Hunter**: Thank you very much! I hope you liked this chapter and I hope you like every one to come._

_**Tapanda08**: All that matters is that you're sharing it now! Thank you for reviewing and I'm so glad that you like my story! I'm sorry I took so long to update!_

_**Moonwolfa**: I hope so to, but they're both proving to be relatively stubborn when it comes to the 'falling for' thing. They can't even admit they like one another, really! But keep your fingers crossed!_

_And thank you, everyone, for your kind wishes on my essays. I did very well in them and I like to think that you helped me get there. I felt your encouragement like the fuzzy glow after eating lots of Milo without the guilt of waiting for the carbs to hit my hips..._

_If you liked my fic, please please please review. It's wonderful and uplifting to know that I can succede in bringing a good story to your plates. It's what I stive for._

_But, for now, I am going to sleep. On my mother's unbelievably comfortable couch. Until then, adieu. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Years._

_Always_

_Anne._


	10. Ch 9: I Feel Therefore I Am

**Warning**: _Angst_.

**Re-Write warning**: Chapter has been re-written and revised.

* * *

**Chapter Nine:**

I Feel Therefore I Am

~*~

District 10 was not a place to get lost.

But in a place devoid of any sort of landmark other than dirt roads, junk piles and white tents that, after an hour of walking, appeared exactly the same as every other dirt road, junk pile and white tent that came before, being lost was an inevitability. Though she had passed many Outlanders, they seemed consumed with their daily routine and payed her no heed.

She wasn't sure if she should stop and ask for directions. Useful, perhaps, but she didn't want to be misinterpreted.

Or misdirected deliberately.

Stopping for what had to be the third time in as many minutes, Chelsea examined the rough map in her hand. Alexander had marked where Michael had lived, and _damn_ if it wasn't a good distance from the doctor's encampment.

Strange, as she stared at the map, all she could think of was how far Michael had run to save her from Adam. Had he done it to prevent her from being hurt so no Outlander would suffer at the hands of MNU?

Or had he done it simply to prevent her from being hurt? Like a romantic hero?

She tried to envision Michael as a broad-shouldered human, all tall dark and handsome, and her lips twisted with amusement, brows arching. Admittedly, the idea of her being friends with an Outlander was not _that_ strange, but there was a fine line that she knew she was toeing, a line that she was afraid to step over.

Chelsea had a pack thrown over her back that was, amazingly, not full of medical supplies. Oh it _did_ have some in there, but they were miscellaneous things, first aid items and not what filled the majority of the pack.

She was not a doctor, not this time. She was… well she was flaking on her shift to hang out with a friend, and she had beer and catfood in her bag, which she had lifted from the camp supplies.

Well, the catfood was from camp supplies. The beer was Graham's.

_I am a bad, bad girl_.

Chelsea had left the camp with specific orders to Natalie and Alexander not to tell _anyone_ where she was going until the shift started. Chelsea felt she was being _highly_ irresponsible to shirk her duties as a doctor to pay a social visit to Michael, but she wanted… she _needed_ him to know that he was important to her.

And that meant that she needed to do more than reach. She needed to bare herself to him and pray to God and all His angels that he wouldn't tear her apart. Something that became a little more real than symbolic when Alexander had said that Michael did _not_ like people visiting his tent, which was why it was mostly on its own.

Chelsea might have been protected by MNU, but in the depths of District 10, where no one but Alexander knew exactly where she was, she could be killed and eaten in an instant, without a trace of her body ever being found.

Physical vulnerability abounded, but that was not what she wanted. Well, what she wanted to do didn't really matter right now. And she had no plan whatsoever. But she knew that she couldn't let this continue. It wasn't fair on Michael and she was damn well tired of it herself.

She was just terrified of what would happen to her. She only hoped that this would work, because if it didn't, it would probably destroy her all over again.

Alexander had told her a route that would take her through the less populated areas of District 10, where she could avoid being alone with Outlanders that didn't trust the humans. In rough translation, Michael lived in a 'rough' part of District 10, surrounded by Outlanders that would once have been gang members, or did illegal things in District 9 for benefits of food or money.

As Chelsea walked, she realized she was walking through the Outlander equivalent of a ghetto, alone and unarmed. A part of her wished she knew how to shoot a sidearm so she could have brought it, just for added security, but she wasn't sure how Michael would respond to that.

_Oh god I'm an idiot_. She stopped suddenly, staring at the map. She was walking _alone_ in District 10. Previously she had a very large Outlander with her, or a young Outlander that served to be as great protection. Even her jogs had been through areas of District 10 that were easily accessible and open, where they couldn't really be ambushed by angry Outlanders, and they _always_ changed the exact time and location.

But now Chelsea was in real danger. Not immediate danger, but she was a doe trip-tripping through a forest populated by tigers. They were out there, somewhere.

She was being _stupid_ and she knew it. She was doing all of this wholly because she liked Michael. Yes. She acknowledged those twinges and aches and disconcerting emotions she felt indicated that she liked him. She was old enough to admit it. Friendship with Michael was not as disturbing to her as it might be to another, and right now she was puzzling out what that meant. Nothing like a long walk to an emotionally raw situation to get her head straight.

"Nothin's ever simple is it?" she muttered as she turned to the left. "This way." Then she started forward again.

Sometimes, matters of the heart meant you had to stop listening to your head.

She just hoped it didn't get her killed.

The irony of such a death was not lost on her at all.

~*~

Wikus van der Merwe was a Prawn.

But at the same time he was an imperfect Prawn. Flawed.

An aberration.

His hand was still in a dirty bandage, binding the missing finger. Though it had been the first part of him to change, it seemed to cling tenaciously to human frailty. The missing finger was severely infected and his hand pained him constantly. Whilst an Outlander would not have suffered at all from the rusted axe that had sliced through its flesh, an axe likely covered in things that would make any person conscientious about sanitation dissolve into paroxysms of horror, the human/Outlander physiology that made Wikus who and what he was seemed to keep many of his human weaknesses.

He was physically smaller than most other Outlanders, his endurance was shot and he was definitely not as strong. But even then, the huge gap between who he was and who he had been remained phenomenal. Running was effortless and his body felt totally weightless. Movements had nothing to do with effort and simply happened.

Comparing life as an organism possessing an endoskeleton to an organism possessing an exoskeleton was something only he could truly do. He was the only one that had experienced it. In theory, on page, was one thing, but to truly be able to describe it was something unique to him.

Despite himself, Wikus had been fascinated with his Outlander body once the initial disgust and despair had worn off. The way his legs worked were wholly different and he had to re-learn how to walk. Even now, months on, he was still clumsy on his feet. But the amazingly effortless way that he could leap would always impress him. He supposed it was the closest he could ever come to flying without actually sprouting wings.

Wikus wobbled faintly as he moved from one pile of garbage to another. Finding a half empty can of beans, he ripped it open with the strong teeth deep in his mouth, the jagged steel simply crushing against the bony plate rather than cutting him. Then he spat out the distorted metal and looked for something else to eat.

Although originally he had been so disgusted with himself that he had nearly died of starvation before he had finally accepted that he would have to live like a dog to survive. Scrounging through garbage and refuse for something, anything to eat. The human part of himself had been outraged at the state of his existence, but he had grown to accept it as inevitability. Necessity.

But only until Christopher returned, and then he'd go back to living with Tania and forget everything about District 9, District 10 and the Prawns.

Legally, Wikus the Outlander did not exist. But an Outlander named Gerome Fitzpatrick had died just before the relocation. The hot, stinking relocation in the back of a truck two hours through the African sun to District 10, crammed like cattle together in a tiny space. During that time, Wikus had managed to fudge the paperwork and took the place of Gerome Fitzpatrick in the records of MNU. As far as MNU was concerned, who only knew the difference between Outlanders if they were vividly coloured or not, Wikus _was_ Gerome Fitzpatrick.

But the Outlanders knew. They _all_ knew. They might not hurt him because he was 'one of them', but he would never really be 'one of them'. His changing alien physiology was the only thing that saved him from being eaten with the colonel, but it didn't mean that he was immediately friends with them.

He would always be a human to the Outlanders and they would always hate him.

But that wasn't so bad. It meant he could continue to hate them. Continue to remind himself of what waited him back in Johannesburg.

His angel.

A flash of blonde hair caught his attention and his head jerked up sharply. Where he looked there was nothing, but he was damn sure he saw blonde hair. Blonde _hair_.

What… the _hell_?

Wikus shot to his feet and staggered forward to where he had seen the golden flash. He spun first one way and then the other as he tried to locate the source. There was another flash of blonde and he almost fell on his face as his unsteady feet caught him, halting his little dance. The bag in his hand dropped to the ground, spilling out the random things he had found.

_It was her_. It had to be. The human woman. The blonde. The doctor with the injuries.

_In District 10_.

_Here_, in the part of District 10 that most resembled District 9, except it lacked the human crime lords. She couldn't _be_ here… For a moment Wikus was rendered catatonic with horror, his eyes wide, his maxillae lax and his antennae twitching as he processed every horrific thing that could possibly happen to her there in District 10, totally alone and vulnerable. She could be killed. She could be violated. She could be eaten alive.

He suddenly saw Outlanders twisting her head off with the same ease they had with Koobus' head and he wanted to throw up.

"Hey."

The female voice from his right had his upper body turning too fast for his feet to keep pace. One foot came down on a discarded can and slipped out from under him, sending him sprawling on his back in an amazing display of grace.

As he lay there, stunned, her face appeared in his vision, her own eyes wide, "Are you alright?"

Again, her accent jarred him out of his delusion. She sounded older than Tania, and wholly unlike her, her voice lower and rougher than Tania's light tones. She sounded like a woman that yelled a lot, whereas Tania hadn't yelled a day in her life. He always thought Tania sounded like wind chimes, especially when whispering in his ear as they lay naked in bed.

Wrenching himself out of his despair, Wikus sat up sharply, his hands lifting as he looked around, terrified that another Outander might be nearby.

"Whoa, whoa," she held up her own hands. "Calm down."

His head snapped around to stare at her, so close that his antennae touched her face. She ducked away and brushed her cheek to rid it of the tickling, before lifting her hand. "I need to ge-"

A hand wrapped in a dirty bandage curled about her own, crushing the paper she held. The moment it did, he was transfixed, staring at the physical representation of everything he had been through. It was the hand that had changed first. The hand that symbolized his change and the ruination of his life.

As he held her, he recalled Tania's tearful voice as she said she never wanted him to hold her again.

"Your hand…"

His head jerked up as she reached out to it, touching the bandages. A scowl curled her brow, one of concern and worry.

Not unlike Tania would wear if she saw he had hurt his hand. Perhaps lacking the humoured chastisement, of course.

"You're the one who-"

"**You need to leave.**"

She lifted her head, blinking at him stupidly, "What?"

"**Go. Go back to the human encampment.**" He withdrew his hand and stepped back, looking around urgently. "**Go**!" He waved his hands her like she was an errant puppy that had followed him home.

"G… Go?"

"**Go**!"

"Alright," she said. "Alright. I'll go. But you have to let me look at your hand first."

_Woman_!!

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the open, ducking behind some tents. His antennae twitched madly as he scented the air, before turning to her. His entire body twitched when he saw she was reaching for his bandaged hand.

"**Stop!**" He grabbed her face and made her look at him, then dropped his hands when he realized that he was touching her face. "**You need to **_**go**_**. There are Prawns here that will **_**kill**_** you if they find you.**"

Silence reigned, before she whispered, "I have no idea what you just said. Talk slower, please."

_Say what_?!

"**You… need to… **_**leave**_**.**"

"Hand," she pointed. "Me lookie."

Okay, he was absolutely going to strangle her. As he fought down his urge of utmost frustration, she grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and yanked the bandage free.

"_Holy_…" She stared at his hand, or rather at his missing finger, agog. "How did this happen? And why is it untreated?!"

Four months ago, and he did it to himself. With a rusty hatchet.

He yanked his hand away, shielding it against his chest with the other. What was _wrong_ with her. The only people that would willingly associate with an Outlander were MNU and prostitutes. He knew she wasn't MNU and he _damn_ hoped she wasn't a prostitute. Could she be so naively good-willed to think that fixing some hurts and kissing some boo-boos would make everything better?

"**Never mind me. Just go.**"

She needed to _leave_. She needed to _go_.

"_**Please**_."

"I don't know why you want me to go," she said softly, "but you obviously know more than I do. Just let me take care of your hand, _please_. And then I'll get out of here. Okay?"

He stared at her for a long moment, and she said in a deadpan voice, "Either I tend that hand now or in a few months when your arm is festering and rotting and I have to remove the whole damn limb."

Wikus' eyes widened and he looked at his hand, then at her. Could that happen?!

"Either way, you're going to be tended by me. So we can wait and you can be lop-sided for the rest of your life, or we can cut to the chase and you can keep your arm."

An ultimatum by a woman. When was the last time someone gave him one of those?

_Tania_…

Wikus stared at his hands, depressed. Quietly, he reached out and took hers, bringing them into his field of vision. Callused fingers and clipped short nails, browned from exposure to the sun. The last time he had seen her, she had had abrasions and bandages on her hands and arms, but now only fine lines remained and her palms were clear of all wounds. They were the hands of a woman that worked hard. There were no rings. No manicure.

Nothing like his wife's hands.

"**Follow me.**"

Rising to his feet, he loped past her, leading the way as he wound a weaving path through the tents. Stepping out from between two, he looked back and forth, before skittering across a road and dropping into a ditch, where a patchy tent was erected.

The sound of boots scraping through the dirt had him turning, the doctor sliding through the dirt behind him. She landed on one knee, brushing herself off. Wikus glanced around, before holding open the flap to his shitty little tent, ushering her inside.

The doctor hesitated, before stepping inside, glancing around. The sensory perception of an Outlander meant that light was not necessary for them to 'see', but that was not the case for the doctor as she rummaged in her pack for a penlight. Clicking it on, she made a muted sound as she scanned his home and Wikus felt shame welling inside of him, before she turned and he realized she was staring in awe.

Then the shame turned to pride.

The claws and hands of Outlanders made for good tools for crafting, not having to worry about cutting his sensitive flesh on the tin he liked to use. As such, the interior of his tent was littered with small, metal flowers. They hung from the roof and were stuck to the walls.

"My goodness…"

He turned to look at her as she approached his workbench, where he was in the process of making a tin Christmas tree. He knew he was going to spend more than one without his wife and he wanted something to celebrate with, to pretend with.

"You know what Christmas is?" she looked over her shoulder, smiling. "Or… are you just making a random pine tree? I don't know. Don't mind me." She pursed her lips and stood straight. "Sorry. Here I am poking around in your stuff. Here. Let me see your hand."

Obligingly, Wikus moved over to her, taking the penlight from her as she asked. Aiming it at his hand, she crouched down, letting him place it on her bared knee as she washed it carefully with something that smelled like rubbing alcohol.

As he stared at her bent head, he moved one of his antennae, so it brushed along her golden locks. Then she pulled out a pair of scissors and he jerked back, almost sending her sprawling as she kept a hold of his wrist until the last moment.

"**What are you doing**?!"

"There is dead tissue around the joint. If I don't clip it, it will rot. Please. It won't hurt, I _swear_."

He stared at her for a long moment, before his shoulders slumped. Then he offered his hand again. Indeed, when she cut the skin from beneath the hard plates of his fingers, he barely felt anything at all. Although the sound of the scissors cutting flesh was disgusting.

He was reminded of the scientists beneath the MNU building, where he was strapped to the table and they cut and burned and drilled his arm to test it.

But she was nothing but gentle, going slowly and tentatively and making sure she didn't hurt him.

"**You're not with MNU, are you? You're not… you have nothing to do with them.**"

She glanced up at him with a furrowed brow, "We've already established that. After MNU… after they fell into a bit of a bad rut, they decided to try and redeem themselves by throwing us to the wolves. Although a part of me thinks they wanted you to kill us all to justify genocide of your race…" She shrugged. "Not all humans are MNU. Some of us are actually decent people with respect for other sentient races. Respect for life. Not corporate money-grubbers who couldn't come up with half a conscience between the lot of them. Pigs."

Wikus the MNU worker was sufficiently cowed.

She taped a little bit of gauze in place before unrolling a bandage, "Your alien physiology is amazing. This would have festered long before now, but with you it's just like a bad wound. It should be fine now, but when the bandage starts to get dirty, duck by one of the medical tents or the camp and I'll replace it for you."

As she wrapped his hand, he lowered his head in shame. What would she do if she knew that he was truly a human? What would she do if she knew he was an MNU worker?

What would she do if she knew that much of the suffering that the Outlanders were currently experiencing was largely because of his efforts – or lack thereof – before his transformation? Some time ago, she would have been little more than a bleeding heart that was a complication in his annual report. Someone he had to placate to keep MNU's reputation intact and make sure things progressed efficiently and expediently.

But here, kneeling in the dark of his tent and taking care of his hand, she was… she was an angel…

… Oh god he was going nuts.

"I'm glad that I could take care of your hand. It had been bugging me."

He looked at her again as she smiled up at him.

"I was worried about you."

Worried. Like he was an actual human being. Or like the fact that he wasn't didn't matter. He was touching her. He put his hand on his chest as it ached fiercely, wondering if Tania would be able to overlook his hideousness.

"Are you alright?" That concern again. It was almost motherly, the way she looked at him. Not just a doctor, but a carer as well.

His good hand came out, his finger touching the scar that slashed across her face. She kept very still as he traced it carefully, and then moved his hand to cup her cheek. Her eyes widened slightly but she kept very still.

"**I could rip your head off right now.**"

Her eyes went _very_ wide then and her breathing hitched slightly. He could smell when a slight clammy sweat started on her skin. Fear. He had frightened her. Good! She should be afraid. This idealistic desire she had to help the Outlanders with total disregard for her own safety had to _stop_.

"Will you?"

His hand tightened slightly, trying to frighten her further.

"**Why aren't you fighting back? Why aren't you running?!**"

"Because you have more reasons to be afraid of my death than I do. If I die, I die. But MNU will rain down on this place like fire and your people will suffer. If you want to kill me, kill me. But I haven't done anything to you. Murdering me is as justified as every act of murder that MNU has done to your people."

He had to bite back a protest. She thought he was a Prawn. If he blew his cover…

"**Maybe some of it was justified.**"

"No," she said quietly. "All life is valuable. I've dedicated my own to saving the lives of others, but every life lost, even if I had nothing to do with it, is a horrible blow. Life is important, a gift that is too easily squandered. People take life for granted. I don't."

She touched the scars on her face, her eyes saddening. "And I… I know the feeling when those you love die needlessly. I want to prevent that from happening to anyone else. With everything I have. I don't care what you are, or who you are. You think, and feel, and therefore you are precious. All of you. MNU just forgot that, but then again they don't even treat humans with decency."

Wikus was… humbled. Beyond humbled. As he stared at this total stranger, he was overcome with the desire to cry. Such unyielding faith, gentleness, kindness. It… reminded him so much of Tania. But then, it also surpassed Tania. Tania had never felt the suffering he saw now in the woman's eyes. Her skin was perfect and unblemished except for a mole on her left hip, one he had kissed many times.

She was older than Tania, and had been through more. But a part of him did not begrudge her that, nor did he think it lessened Tania. He just wanted to get back to her all the more, and shield her from every lesson that shone in the woman's eyes, every hard thing that she had endured to think that every life, even the life of a creature like he appeared, was valuable.

He was ripped from his reverie when she touched his upper arm, making him twitch. He glanced down at her hand, then at her.

"Hey, I need to find someone who lives near here. Can you help me?" She paused, and then pattered herself. "Oh shit…"

"**What**?"

"I had a map on me… But I must have dropped it. Shit!"

"**A map**?"

"Yeah. Where he lived. And… well how to get back to the doctor's camp."

"**I can take you.**" He got to his feet and began to back out of his tent. She followed behind him willingly enough and he helped her up the incline to level ground. Then he turned to take her back to the doctor's camp.

"Really? I thought you wanted me to leave."

"**You did promise to leave. I'm taking you to the camp. Where you'll be safe.**"

"Screw that. I said I'd leave, I never said I'd go back to the camp."

_Devious witch_! And there she stood looking at him with an expression of innocence. But he wasn't fooled for a moment. He grasped her hand and tugged on her, trying to pull her towards the doctor's camp. But she just dug her heels in and leant her weight against her limb, her other arm hanging limp behind her.

"Let go!"

"**What are you doing?! I can rip your arm off!**"

"Do it! I'll still be going _this_ way."

She turned and switched her heels for her toes, pulling in the opposite direction. Wikus was caught in the absurdity of the moment as they played tug o war with her arm. Outlander strength was significant enough that he could rip her arm clear from its socket, a daunting thought, since he had seen it happen.

Instead he let her go. She stumbled forward several steps, before collecting herself. Then she straightened and looked at him, working her arm.

"**Did… did I hurt you**?"

"No," she smiled. "But I'm not exactly a light person." She looked at her wrist. "It's alright. No harm done."

So forgiving. Outlanders had been shot and killed for less. "**Please go back to the camp…**"

She stepped closer, causing him to step back, "Look. I'm not going back. I have to go see my friend and… and make something right."

He stared at her, before shaking his head, "**This friend… is a Prawn**?"

"Yes. His… well his name his Michael. He's much taller than you and darker. And looks… scarier."

Instantly he knew who she was talking about. A dominant Prawn that did indeed live nearby in a tent far more isolated than his. The one that was often seen with her. The one that would dive into fights and break up small groups of Prawns before they could rally and attack the encampment. He was older than the other Prawns. They looked to him for leadership. An alpha male.

Wikus stared at her in silence. That Outlander was her _friend_? And she was willing to risk her life and her safety to go patch things up with him?

Couldn't she just make another one?!

"Can you… show me where he lives? Or point me in the right direction?"

"**Why**?"

"Because I want to go visit him?"

"… **Are you insane? You could be hurt. Or killed! Don't you care**?" The woman was an idiot. Or absurdly naïve to think she could just walk to his tent and be alright. Could she truly be so _stupid_?

"I know that," she said quietly. "But… you know. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, something tells me that he won't come to me, and I don't want him hiding in District 10 because I'm too scared for my own safety to go see him. And it's not like he has a phone."

He stared at her, incredulous, before making an Outlander sound of frustration, putting one hand to his head.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll just guess." Then she spun about and headed off in a random direction.

Wikus stared at her, maxillae agape, before he loped to catch up. "**W-wait**!" He grabbed her wrist with his good hand, sighing through his gills. "**This way.**" Tugging her gently behind him, he lead her again through the tents. At least if he was leading her, he would know she was safe, for a time.

And he already knew that Michael would not hurt her. Although the large Outlander could be aggressive, it was never malicious. He was one of those intelligent enough to know the consequences of actions, so he should know what would happen if the human was killed. But more than that, there was the natural lack of inclination towards subterfuge that the Outlanders possessed.

They were all simply too innocent, their thoughts not turning to such things. Even Christopher, who could have lied to him, had been blatantly honest about his plans to leave for three years and come back. In fact, the only time Christopher had been sly had been to get Wikus to help him into MNU, but even then Wikus doubted Christopher was fully aware of what he had been doing.

If she truly believed there was friendship between them, then it was because Michael had given her reason to think so. She didn't seem to be an illogical person.

Suicidal trips into District 10 aside.

Besides, this woman looked to be stubborn as a mule and she had her head set on the stupid notion of going to see Michael. If it was one thing Wikus knew about women, it was to assist or get out of the way.

At least if he assist, she would survive the trip there. Outlanders were not openly hostile to humans, of course. Their lack of malice meant that they would not actively seek out humans to hurt them, generally. But then there were those like the scarred one who would happily hunt down a lone human and kill them.

After only a few minutes of walking, Wikus stopped and pointed at a tent standing on its own.

"**That is where he lives.**"

"Is he in there?"

Wikus tasted the air with his antennae. The pheromones of dominance were heavy and thick, laced with confusion, despair and sadness. When Wikus had first come into his antennae, the scents in the air had been wholly overwhelming. It was like living forever in a sterile room, and then entering a restaurant kitchen. None of the smells were unpleasant, but they were indescribable except for their purpose. How did you explain the smell of mint in words that themselves did not have to be explained?

"**He's in there.**" Wikus turned and stared at her. "**I think you should reconsider this. He's… he's a big Prawn. He could hurt you.**"

She smiled, "No he won't. And besides, I've hurt his feeling. So I'm going to make it up to him. That's what friends do, right?"

A human befriending an Outlander. How… quaintly disgusting.

Wikus barely kept his maxillae from curling up as she stepped in front of him. But then he was distracted by her hair, his eyes following it as it fell from her ponytail.

_Tania_…

"**Can I touch your hair**?"

The moment he asked it, he wished he could take it back, recoiling. The doctor, however, just looked over her shoulder, before turning back to him. With a confused expression, she turned her back again and pulled her hair from its tie.

"Sure."

Wikus was immobilized for a moment, before he reached out and slid his fingers through it. She kept still as he lifted some of the locks, thicker and heavier than Tania's. She seemed perfectly at ease with him touching her and he wished, he _wished_, that he could have faith that Tania would feel the same. If this woman… who knew him not at all, could be okay with her touching him, would she?

Wikus lifted the handful of hair and pressed his alien face into it, imagining Tania's locks, Tania's face, Tania's scent.

Slowly the locks fell through his fingers and he lifted his head. The woman was looking at him with a slightly bemused look, but it was more that she couldn't understand what he was doing, more than she was actually disturbed by it.

"**Thank you…**" He backed up, blinking rapidly, his head twitching back and forth, antennae shifting. "**Thank you.**"

"Oh." She reached into her backpack and pulled out a tin of catfood. Smiling, she juggled it and tossed it at him. "Here. I think I should be the one thanking you. And I do hope that you actually like that stuff…"

He caught the catfood and tried not to groan. It was disgusting, to be so addicted to the food. But the thing was, now that he was an Outlander, it was _delicious._

Holding it close, like he was afraid she would take it back, he whispered softly, "**What's your name**?"

"Chelsea," she smiled at him. "Chels. Chelsea. My brother used to call me CC before he could talk properly. And then he still did it after he turned seventeen."

Something in Wikus broke and he gave a nervous, Outlander laugh, looking down at the cat food.

"**Thank you.**"

"What about you? Can I know your name?"

He looked at her in silence, before shaking his head. "**It… doesn't matter to me.**"

"Oh okay. I guess human names wouldn't."

That's not what he meant, but he accepted that. She backed up a couple of steps, towards the tent, before saying suddenly, "Hey. Um. I know the other Outlanders warned me away from you."

_They did_?

"But you don't seem dangerous… And that had needs seeing to. So. Maybe I'll come visit you in a couple of days. How does that sound?"

Wikus stared at her, his entire body lighting up with the prospect of human company that was not laced with contempt and disgust. He craved it. Needed it.

"**Yes… please.**"

She smiled at him, "Okay. See you in a few days."

She waved at him as he backed away, staring down at the cat food. Stepping behind a tent and out of her sight, he sat down where he stood and held her gift tightly to his chest.

Then he curled in on himself and wished to God that Outlanders could cry.

~*~

Chelsea watched the Outlander go in silence, tying her hair back up. That was relatively odd. He was of a higher intelligence than most Outlanders, and was therefore older. But there was just something about him that was odd. Not… frightening or suspicious. Just odd.

Then she glanced over her shoulder to Michael's tent. It looked just like any other. Small, white and concentration-camp-like. There was some debris and detritus around it, but nothing significant.

Now turning back now.

"Michael?"

When nothing happened, she sighed and tilted her head.

"Michael!"

Something clattered in the tent and she heard the deep, incoherent sound that she probably guessed was the Outlander equivalent to 'Son of a-'. Then silence.

"Well gee, I guess that means you're not home." She folded her arms over her chest. "So I'll just wait here until you get back."

There was an Outlander expletive and the tent flap was swept to one side, showing a very upset Michael. His chest heaved and his antennae practically convulsed atop his head.

"**Go away.**"

"No."

He let out an inarticulate sound of Outlander fury and slashed his hand through the air, "**You cannot be here. This is my **_**home**_**. This… this place belongs to me. You can't come here, invading this one last part I have, and expect me to… to…**" He clenched his fists and leaned over her. "**Leave, human. I want nothing more to do with you**!"

She reached out to grab his hand, but he shook her off, disappearing inside his tent.

And that was that.

Chelsea stood there for a moment, staring at the tent in silence. Her eyes slid to one side, before she shucked her pack and dropped it in the dirt beside her. Then she simply folded her arms and waited.

Sure enough, after the minutes ticked by, Michael burst from his tent, arms spread wide, "**What?! What! What do you want**?!"

"I…" Chelsea stopped, before trying again. "I want to talk, Michael. And every time you don't want to talk, you run back to District 10. And I know… you've had some leeway with me because of everything. But I'm involved in this too. You've been finding ways to paint me as the villain for weeks, and I want to know why."

"**You want to…**" He shook his head and whirled like he would go back into his tent. His feet caught on the ground and he spun back. "**You want to know **_**why**_!?"

"Well, yes, I would." Refusing to back down, Chelsea stared him right in the eye. "I'm trying, Michael, but it seems like I'm the only one that is. You're brick-walling me all over the place!" She moved her hands to mimic a wall in front of her. "It's _hard_. At least give me the courtesy of knowing why it's so hard for us to just be friends!"

"**Why? Did you ever think about that? Why do you want to be my friend? Admit it. I'm a curiosity for you. I am beneath you. I am… some other creature to be studied. The moment I'm not interesting, you'll disappear.**"

"What? That's ridiculous! When have I _ever_ given that indication?"

"**Every time I turn around you're studying our people. Studying me. You're… you're just a scientist. That's the only reason you're here. To study us**!"

"For the love of Christ," she snapped. "I am a _doctor_. I spent _years_ training to be this way, Michael. This is my _job_. My choice of living. I can't just turn that off and I can't just turn it on. It's a part of me. It's who I am!"

"**Do you treat your human friends like this**?!"

"I'm not treating…" She put her head in her hands. "The research we do is to find out how to treat your people better. We have… whole medical texts on how to treat humans. Centuries of study. It's not for curiosity. It's so we know how to _treat_ people. How to treat your people."

Michael clenched his fist, lifting it like he would argue, but Chelsea pushed ahead, "Michael, I will never do to you what MNU did. None of us will. We took an _oath_ to do no harm. Ever. We want to help, but to do that, we need to _know_ what we're doing. Otherwise we'll only do more harm."

"**But those… those note books…**"

"They were… my notes. For me." She cringed as he drew back. "I was… I want to learn more about your people. About you… So I can understand you and not make mistakes. You interest me. Intrigue me."

"**Curiosity.**"

"Because you, _you_ are interesting! Not as a specimen, but as a person. As a being I want to get to know. Someone I want to be friends with."

"**You are not treating me as an equal.**"

"I am. This study, this discovery… we do the same with humans. It's so we can understand and know what we are encountering. It is so we know what we're doing." Chelsea swept her hand to her side, "But that… doesn't have anything to do with you, directly. I knew you wouldn't want me to study you… so I… I didn't. I stopped. Because I care what you think. That matters to me. I would like your help, but… but I want to be your friend far, far more. Please, Michael. Please believe me."

Michael stared at her for a long moment, before exhaling sharply. "**I do not want to be friends. I do not. Go, Chelsea. Go back to the human encampment. I don't want to see you again.**" He waved his hand, dismissing her.

Chelsea felt her anger frizzle, but she kept a tight leash on it. Barely.

"Why not? You're the one that has been sabotaging me! You're blaming me for things I have never done." Desperately she shouted, "The death of your children _was not my fault_!"

He snarled and advanced on her, but she refused to give in, staring up at him.

"**Don't you **_**dare**_** talk of them, human.**"

"It wasn't my fault, and you _know_ it. So stop hating _me_ for what I didn't do."

Michael clenched his fist in her face, before exhaling and turning away, "**That… is not what this is about.**"

"Then what is it about?! Tell me! I have _no _idea what is going on!" Frustrated, Chelsea stepped forward, "Don't _you_ like _me_, Michael?!"

"**If I didn't, then I would not be in this situation! Yes. I was sabotaging you. Yes, I wanted to hate you. But to like you, to want to befriend you, to… to want to protect you, was a betrayal to my people. To my children.**"

Chelsea's lips parted in shock as his words registered fully in her mind.

Michael turned away from her, his head lowering. "**Do I blame you for their deaths? No. I do not. It is illogical. I know you had nothing to do with their deaths. But I… I feel… like I am betraying my children by liking you. I feel like I'm betraying my people for wanting to protect you. I feel like I am betraying myself for wanting to befriend you.**" Michael looked up at her. "**When Alexander came to me and told me you were in danger, I went to save you. Not because of MNU. Not because of the repercussions of your death. But because I wanted to keep **_**you safe**_**. I can't feel these things, Chelsea. You are a **_**human**_**. You are one of the people that has tormented, butchered and hated my kind for **_**years**_**. I **_**cannot**_** like you…**"

She had thought he would think it weird to befriend her. She had thought he might be disgusted. But she hadn't thought he would perceive it as a betrayal of his people. As a betrayal of his children and their memory to befriend her. She could have argued against him blaming her for their deaths, but this…

How could she compete against this?

"I…"

"**Nothing you can say or do can change that, Chelsea. I cannot be your friend. I cannot like you. I cannot care for you. I cannot want to protect you or keep you safe as I **_**failed**_** to protect them.**" He put his hand to his face. "**Now you know the truth. My shame. My guilt. This is the reason we can't be friends. This is the reason I cannot like you. I do not… want to like you.**"

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"**I want you to leave… I want you to leave District 10… So I never have to see you again.**"

Chelsea's lips parted, eyes widening at the unexpected pain of that.

"**I will… never see you again. Goodbye.**"

Then he turned and disappeared into his tent.

Chelsea stared at the closed white flap in silence, her chest aching. Her whole world had ground to a stop with that quiet confession, as he told her the true reason for his actions. Guilt. Oh she knew well the depths of despair that guilt could send you. The lengths you can go in a desperate attempt to alleviate it.

She looked at her wrists, at the scars of her attempted suicide.

How could she compete with that? How could she fix that?

She couldn't. She knew well that alleviating guilt could only be done by the individual. And since she hadn't been able to overcome her own guilt, just run and hide from it, she was hardly the person to lecture Michael on it.

Slowly Chelsea stepped back, her head bowing. Her jaws locked tightly, teeth bared in a grimace of heartache. More than that, of course, was Michael's desire for her to leave. To go away. To leave District 10.

If she stayed, she would show she didn't care about his opinion, and would be the monster he tried to portray her as.

But if she went…

"I'm leaving, Michael." The words were broken and caught several times, but she called them so he could hear. "Not here. District 10. I'll leave. You'll… you'll never have to see me again…"

Until that moment, Chelsea never realized how much Michael meant to her. As a friend. As a source of happiness and contentment. But he could not forgive her for something insignificant. He couldn't forgive her for something she hadn't done.

And he could not befriend her because of that lack of forgiveness. Because of his guilt.

_Unfair_. The word reverberated in her chest as she turned, picking up her bag and walking away. _Unfair_.

Tears flowed down her cheeks and she muffled her sobs with her locked teeth. She had thought they had time. She had thought they could work on it. She had thought they would, eventually, be friends.

But she knew now that she had been doomed before she had ever started, by something that wasn't even her fault.

_Not my fault_. How much had that phrase haunted her? Something that wasn't her fault, causing her so much pain. So much anguish.

Undeserving, for something that was not her fault.

Or maybe she simply was undeserving because she thought she could have it. Because she dared to forget her guilt.

"I'm sorry…"

But she no longer knew who she was apologizing to.

~*~

Back in the tent, Michael sat at the table, his head on the wood. He had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? She was gone. She was leaving. Not just his tent, but District 10. She would be gone and he would never have to feel guilt for being happy to see her, a human. He would never have to feel guilt for liking a human, the creatures that butchered his children, burning one alive and shooting one dead, carrying them both off.

He put his arms over his head.

He would never see her again.

So why did that thought cause him so much pain?

_This isn't fair_.

A childish notion. Nothing was fair.

Michael got to his feet, the chair scraping back, and stepped out of his tent. His antennae picked up the scent of Chelsea's bitter sadness and his eyes saw the droplets of moisture on the ground, her tears soaked into the dirt, devoured by the thirsty soil.

She was crying. But why? Because she was leaving District 10?

Or because she couldn't be friends with him.

Michael raked his hand over his face, unable to lose his insecurities. A niggling part of him would always believe in the selfish human, wanting to hurt him, to study him, for her own personal gain. If he couldn't trust her at all, how could they be friends?

But the ache at the thought of never seeing her again. Of never watching her play with Alexander. Of never having her stare at him like an equal and-

Michael jerked, eyes wide.

An equal. Chelsea treated him like an equal. He was free to come and go in the camp. Free to come and go to her tent. She was unafraid of him. She had even pulled his antennae once to get him to do as she wanted. Something he had been aghast at, but not angry. She had been angry with him, frustrated, patient, kind, irritated.

Sad.

She had said that her desire to study him was a desire to know him. If he took MNU's mistreatment out of the picture, then that was the logical choice. She had never hurt them. Never done harm. It was the only way she learned.

But she had said she had never directly studied him. His people, yes, but not him.

Had she really… _truly_ wanted to be friends with him? Had she really, truly cared?

And his own insecurities blinded him to that fact.

Swearing, Michael turned and dashed into the tents, following her boot prints. Soon enough he heard the sound of her tears and her angry, stomping steps and he ducked out between two tents to see her back as she walked away.

"**Chelsea.**"

She glanced over her shoulder, spying him. Then she made a sound of surprise, turning sharply.

"What…?"

"**Stay…**"

Her incredulous expression dissolved into one of angry confusion, "_What_?"

"**Chelsea. You don't have to go. You don't have to leave District 10. We can…**" He stepped closer to her, reaching out, almost touching her shoulder. "**I can…**"

Suddenly Chelsea struck Michael full in the chest with both hands, shoving him back. Stunned, he tottered on his clawed heels, covering the impact point with both hands. It hadn't hurt him. It had just surprised the hell out of him.

"What the _hell?_ I'm not a fucking yo yo, Michael! You can't push and pull me like this shit. Like me. Hate me. Want me to go far away. Want me to stay. This isn't fucking fair! I understand what the problem is with you, but I'm a living person too, and I have feelings. And this… you can't do this to me. You have… have leeway because of who and what you are and what you've been through, but this is too much. I've had it up to _here_ with placating you because I want to be friends. Enough! I've had enough!"

She made an angry gesture with her arm and then turned on him again. "I came all the way out here to apologize to you, to make it right, and all you do is spit it back in my face. So I'm going! I'm _going_!! Even though I don't want to, even though I don't _want_ to go, I am, because I would rather _leave_ than be another source of suffering for you." Chelsea scrubbed her eyes, lost for a moment in sadness, before returning to her tirade.

"I just… wanted to be friends. I don't _have_ friends. I'm _shit_ at making them. I always have been. Graham, Natalie, Callum? They're co-workers. People I get along with, yes, but they don't know anything about me. They… they're friends, but they're not the friends that I want to be with you. They're the same friends I make any place I go here. Anywhere I get shifted to. I don't get close because I have to leave in three or six months to go somewhere else. To make friends, to really care, would just be two painful."

"And then I come here, where I've always wanted to be, and I make a _friend_. In you. With you. Someone I like. Someone who… I can be happy with. Did I want to befriend you? No. Because I knew eventually I would leave District 10 and I would… and it would be like this. It would _hurt_. But I couldn't _help_ it. And I…" She put her hands to her head. "I couldn't help how I felt."

"With you and Alexander and I can _forget… _But you… you fucking prejudiced asshole. You claim that I think differently of you because you're an Outlander, but I bet you don't treat any Outlanders like this, do you?! You can't just be _friends_ with me. And I get why. I do. I _do_."

She threw her arms into the air, spinning around, then turned back to him, her hair floating behind her with the speed of the motion, "But that's the kicker, isn't it? You feel guilty about being friends with me. _Guilty._ I can't fix that. I can't make that better. Nothing I say or do will make that better. And no matter how much…" She shook her head and closed her eyes tightly. "I'm going. I'm leaving. I'm doing what you want." Tears stung her eyes as she backed away, waving her arms. "I hope it makes you happy. I Goddamn hope it does."

Wiping the tip of her nose and sniffing hard, Chelsea turned on her heel and stormed away, vanishing between the tents, leaving Michael standing there, stunned. She was right. He should be happy she was going. No more guilt. No more heartache. No more perceived betrayal to his people. To his children.

He looked down at his hands. He should feel relief that he wouldn't have to see her again. Wouldn't have to betray the memory of his children for befriending a member of the race that murdered them.

So why wasn't he?

His hands came up to his face, covering it completely. His claws scraped over the carapace at the top and he exhaled sharply through his gills.

Because it wasn't happiness. It was simply the ability to alleviate his guilt. To stop feeling like the worst kind of parent.

And it was bought at the cost of Chelsea's happiness. At the cost of his.

All she had wanted was to be his friend and, admittedly, that was what he wanted too.

"**Chelsea**!" He lowered his hands and looked up. But she was gone. He couldn't even hear her footsteps anymore, or the sound of her crying. "**Chelsea**!"

Breaking into a slow loping run, Michael moved through the tents where he had last seen her go, turning back and forth and trying to see her. Her trail was evident by the faces of stunned Outlanders, who turned to him as he approached with started expressions. He simply followed their path through the tents, running until he caught up with Chelsea.

She had dropped her pack and was sitting beside it, her hands over her face as she cried. Her knees were drawn to her chest as she sobbed, struggling to breathe properly. Outlanders didn't cry. They didn't weep, they simply emitted a strong pheromone of sadness and grief. Though he could taste a bitter tang around her, her tears were enough of a signal to him how upset she was.

Slowly going down onto his knees before her, he reached out. But she slapped his hand away without even looking.

"Fuck off."

Chelsea had never really been mad at him before. She had been irritated and frustrated aplenty, but she had never been mad at him. When she raised her voice, it was because she was trying to get him to listen. She had never shouted.

She had always been afraid, he knew, of chasing him away. Now that she didn't have to be afraid of that, he realized he was seeing the true Chelsea. Unafraid of losing him. Of scaring him off.

"**Chelsea.**"

"Go away, Michael!" her head came up and she tried to shove at him again, but he moved back so she couldn't, leaving her flailing at the air. "Just go. Go away." She put her hand to her face. "I'm sick of making mistakes and having you tear me down. I'm sick of having to be so careful in what I do and being wrong anyway. I did the best I fucking could. And it still wasn't enough. So go. Just go. I can't…" She dug her nails into her forehead.

"I can't take any more."

Michael sat there, his hands lax at his sides, as he watched the miserable picture that Chelsea was. Then he shifted to sit beside her, within arm's reach. He drew his knees to his chest and stared at the ground before him.

"**I wanted to prove that you were nothing more than a human like all the rest. Selfish. Cruel. Uncaring.**" He lowered his head. "**I wanted to believe that you… that I was worthless to you. So I could push you away. I thought that if… if I could do that, then I wouldn't like you anymore.**"

"I _know. _Okay? I'm going!" she threw her arms into the air. "I'm going! I'm leaving! You win!"

"**But if you didn't care, then you wouldn't be crying like this…**"

Chelsea stopped crying instantly, staring at him in open horror.

Then she struck his shoulder with her closed fist, "Was this a _test_?!" Before he could answer, she hit him again, then shot to her feet, picked up her back and tossed it at his head.

Michael deflected the bag with his arm, blinking sharply, "**No! No it wasn't a test**-"

"Go to hell, Michael. I thought I was bad in that I… I somehow didn't reach far enough to you. But it doesn't fucking matter how far I reach, cause you persist in beating me back with a shield. So go away!" She struck at him with her fist again, but he caught her hand. "Let go! Let go of me! Let go!" She twisted her wrist and her hand, tugging on her arm. "You have what you want! Take it and go!"

Michael didn't let go, he just watched her fight futilely against him. Then, realizing that she couldn't get away, she simply sat where she was and cried again.

"It was never my choice," she sobbed. "It was never _my_ choice. It was always _your_ approval. It was always what _you_ wanted. But there… there are two people in this friendship, Michael. And I've… I've… never done anything to hurt you. And I get punished for it. I didn't… I didn't do anything to deserve the way you've treated me! _I_ didn't. It wasn't _me_." She grabbed his wrist, the one to the hand holding hers, and tried to pull it off.

"I didn't do _anything_. I just wanted to have a friend. Someone that I felt _happy_ with. And I found that with you. Companionship. Contentment. Someone that would not judge me or condemn me or look at me with _pity _in their eyes. Someone that made me _forget_ what I lost… Forget how guilty I felt. Forget… forget the fact that I shouldn't be _alive_." She dug her nails into his arm. "I accept that I… I'm a human and I… I'm like those that hurt you. But I… I don't deserve… stop punishing me for something I didn't do!"

She ripped at her wrist again, sobbing, turning away from him, "Do you think you're the only one that feels guilty?! Do you!? Every moment I'm happy, every moment I'm _alive_, I feel guilty! I feel… feel _evil_. For something that I _know _is not my fault. But I can't help it! Do you think you're the only one that's _lost_?! You're _not_. _You're_ _not_!"

"**Why… didn't you ever tell me**?" He knew, of course. He knew they had died. But he hadn't known anything about it. She had never told him. He realized even as he asked, that it had been another source of anger for him. Of inequality.

"Because!" she wailed. "Because you can't compare our stories and call it even! You can't exchange one for the other like currency! I wasn't going to tell you about my past because you told me about yours! You can't use your story to buy mine! And I… the last five years have been suspended on my _misery_. I don't want my friendships to be built on that, too. On pity. On sadness."

She twisted and turned to him, glaring, "What happened to your family was pure, unmitigated evil. _Pure evil_. And you can feel hatred for what was done. Towards those that _stole_ your children from you. But I have _no one_ to blame. Because what happened to me was an _accident_. It was an _accident_ and I cannot blame anyone. Not even the one who… not even the one who took them. It wasn't his fault, either. I have no one to blame! All I have is _guilt_! _All I have is guilt_!"

Suddenly Michael realized the burden Chelsea had been carrying. Whilst he could direct his rage onto humans, she had no such outlet. She had no one to blame. No one to be angry at. Her family were taken in an accident and she had survived.

So the only one she could blame was herself.

For surviving.

Her scars, the ones that marred her body, were living testaments to what she had survived. He knew then that she had experienced what had taken their lives, but had not taken hers.

And she felt guilt for that.

"I wanted to _die_." She bent over, sobbing. "People think I'm over it, but I'm not. I'm _not_. I just run away from it. Hide. Because… because…" She put one hand to her head. "Because life is precious, and I can't throw away what they don't have anymore. I can't just _die_ and be with them, like my life is nothing. I can't… I have to have survived for a _reason_. I can't… I can't have just lived for pure luck… when… when my baby girl was taken from me…"

"I wasn't studying you," she whimpered, pressing her free hand to her face. "I wasn't _studying_ you like MNU. I'm _not_." She hunched up, dragging her legs under her. "I just… Why can't we just be friends? Why can't we just be friends? You make… you make me forget. Make me forget and I… I don't want to lose that. Please."

"**What do I make you forget, Chelsea**?"

"The guilt. You make me forget the guilt… Please…"

"**What… what guilt?**"

"For… for being _alive_…" She fisted her hands in her hair. "For being alive when they're _not_… For being happy when they're _dead_. You think… you're the only one that feels like a traitor to the ones you love? Do you?! I lost… my whole _world_… and I _live_. And I don't know _why_. And being with you, being near you, lets me be happy without feeling like _scum_. My every waking moment is consumed with _guilt._ The happier I am, the more I feel like I have betrayed them with every damn breath I take. With every beat of my heart. But with you… you make me _forget._ You make me feel like… it's okay for me to be happy. So please, Michael. Please don't take that away. _Please_. I'm so sorry it's selfish. I'm so sorry that you feel guilty for befriending me. But please… _please_…"

The moment of clarity then was so painful that Michael struggled to breathe for a moment. She had accepted the blame of their faulty friendship. She had accepted the faults he had found. She had never tried to say it wasn't her fault. Oh, she had with something that was obviously _not _her fault, but with the things he had found? She had just accepted the guilt. Only now was she letting free everything she really felt about the situation. About Michael blaming her when, truly, she had done nothing wrong. She had just been a creature of circumstance.

He refused to be friends with her because he had felt guilty to his lost children. A legitimate reason, but he shouldn't be angry at _her_ for it. For something she had not even known about let alone had been able to stop or initiate.

She had blamed herself for being _alive_…

She had enough blame on her shoulders, from herself, tearing herself apart.

If anyone could understand the guilt he was feeling befriending her, it was _her_.

Michael's shoulders slumped and he blinked several times, processing this. Reaching out, he curled his fingers along her other shoulder, then tugged her closer.

"No!" She struggled like a child, digging in her heels. "Let _go_."

Inexorably, the stronger and more powerful being pulled her close and held her against his chest. She struggled and fought and he was sure she even bit him, but he just held on.

He just held her as she cried herself into exhaustion.

Michael had been blaming Chelsea for the guilt he felt. For being the source of the anguish. He never realized that she might be feeling guilt too. But not from a source she could readily be rid of.

From herself.

Michael's arms constricted around her as he felt so _wrong_ for blaming her. For trying to drive her away. They had both lost. They had both suffered. So desperate was he to escape his torment that he had tried to drive her away in the misplaced conception that she was the source.

But really, the source was him.

He felt wrong for thinking of her as a human, too. As a human, as a being so different that they could never be the same. But they had both lost. They had both grieved and felt guilt. The same emotions in different people. Different races.

They were the same.

"**Chelsea…**" He cupped the back of her head. "**I won't take it away.**"

Chelsea broke down and sobbed against his chest loudly, wailing like a human child. Her arms wound around him as he pulled her tighter, trying to shield her from herself.

After a long time, she simply cried herself out, and she was lying against him, giving tiny hiccups. His hand rubbed her back gently as she calmed, rubbing her face.

"**I'm sorry…**" His arms went tighter. "**Don't leave.**"

"I won't." She closed her eyes and relaxed against his alien shoulder, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry for screaming at you."

They lapsed into silence, which she broke with a whisper, "So where does this leave us?"

"**With a very strange friendship. Built on grief and heartache.**"

"The foundations of a healthy relationship, I'm sure."

He knew then that she was feeling much better.

"**It will be hard. And it will be… fraught with difficulties from both sides. And both races. But I…**" He stopped and touched her hair. "**I don't care. I want to be your friend.**"

"'Bout time."

He gave an alien smile at that.

"**We need to work on our communication skills.**"

She laughed softly, "I guess."

Once more silence took them. He broke it, this time.

"**What… what was your daughter's name?**"

She shifted slightly.

"Haley. Her name was Haley…"

And then she started crying again.

~*~

_Pending re-write, author's comments have been delayed for this chapter._

_Please review. Thank you for reading._

_Anne._


	11. Ch 10: One Step Forward

**Warning**: Warm and fluffy feelings. Stupidity. Slowness.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_One Step Forward_

It was two pm on Sunday and all was quiet in the doctor's camp. Outlanders and humans milled about casually, with only a skeleton crew on duty. Since they had managed to erect a hospital tent much closer to the camp and move most of the patients there, they managed to relax their routine. Although they still had shifts that they rotated, having the whole camp close by meant that everyone was on hand at all times. Whoever was available, rested and closest would attend to whatever was needed. People could duck in at any time and see to patients, grab a snack and go right back to work.

The attitude was relaxed and calm.

It had taken the better part of a week to erect the tent, which was formed by heavy sheets of canvas provided by MNU and sewn together by the Outlanders and humans both, coupled with long strips of duct tape to take up any tension. It could house about two hundred patients, and they were preparing another one to be put up within the month. The half-finished tarp lay to one side, being played with by some young Outlanders who enjoyed jumping on and crawling around beneath it.

Graham and a dark-skinned architect from Johannesburg were overseeing the construction of a makeshift surgery tent. They had decided that Graham, having had experience in doing surgery on the field, would better know what they absolutely needed rather than doctors that had spent time in the cities and hospitals with resources and money. Meghan and Chelsea offered what opinions they could, but even they acknowledged that Graham had a better knowledge on the difference between necessities and commodities then they did.

Some of the med techs and a few Outlanders were playing soccer off to one side, using a pole, two bins and a wooden post as goals. The Outlanders were winning, even though they were outnumbered. One of the med techs was cleaning the mess tent, an iPod in her ear as she danced around to the music. Anna was taking an inventory check, her left antennae tapping along to the music her keen ear could hear.

Natalie and a couple of med techs were playing with some of the children, happily occupying them as their parents or their adoptive carers rested, ate, or scavenged through garbage. She had gotten permission to study the children's behaviour and traits for better understanding of their ways, as long as the children, carers and parents were all aware. She had also begun to sketch Outlanders in various stages of physical development and her tent was littered with the pictures.

Callum was dozing in his tent, because he was useless for anything else.

Outside of Chelsea's tent, Alexander was playing with two cans as Michael sat at the entrance, reading one of Chelsea's medical books. The flaps of Chelsea's tent were held back by massive clips, letting the air flow inside as she worked.

She was bent over her desk, pouring over notes and text books as she wrote down new ways to treat Outlanders, new ways to recognize what was wrong. Due to her often flaking on her shifts to spend time with Michael and Alexander, she had volunteered, along with Meghan, to do most of the bookwork and research. As it was, she and Meghan had established a large compendium of knowledge on treating the Outlanders.

Initially Michael would have been angry to see her studying and scrutinizing his people, but when he saw _how_ she worked, he had been rendered silent. Before their acceptance of a friendship-that-toed-the-line-of-something-more, he had never really seen her work except to actually treat his people. But only now did he truly appreciate the level of study, concentration and practice that came with such skills. The level of dedication. Even Anna had admitted that she had limited knowledge on how to treat her people. The level of expertise demanded by humans when it came to doctoring had been staggering for them. Even reading the books she was expected to know through her education, he gained a new appreciation of the level of commitment a doctor would have to have to be successful.

All of the doctors had confirmed that to remain adept at their field, they had to keep learning. Every time a new diagnosis was created, they had to learn it. Every time a new disease evolved, they had to be able to recognize and treat it. Every new procedure, treatment or inability to apply it was to be constantly updated within their memories. From what he was reading, the sheer scope of the knowledge was… staggering.

Chelsea was wholly dedicated to such learning. She became a completely different person when she was working, utterly absorbed in her work.

It gave him a new appreciation of her.

A muted groan drew Michael's attention to the tent and he saw the human in question sag back in her chair, grinding a knuckle into her eye.

"**What's wrong**?"

She glanced at him, and then smiled tiredly, "Nothing. I'm just going cross-eyed from all of this research." She tucked a pen behind her ear and flicked some pages back and forth, before making some notes in one of her books with a pencil. Resting her elbow on the desk, her hand covering her mouth, she went back to reading and writing and Michael quickly realized she was gone again.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the book, turning a page and resuming his own study.

The human body was utterly disgusting.

For instance, human females fed their young from their bodies. 'Mammary glands' they were called. Breasts. That secreted a substance that the infants consumed.

Disgusting.

"**What's that**?"

Michael lifted the book so Alexander could get into his lap, "**That is human male genitalia.**"

"**G…what**?"

"**They use it for reproduction**."

"**Oh.**"

Humans also had some sort of strange proprietary when it came to bodily functions. Defecation and urination were utterly private matters that they even used euphemisms for when discussing with others. Whilst some euphemisms could be crass and rude, others were utterly ridiculous.

Like 'number one and 'number two'.

They covered certain parts of their bodies at all times, yet kept others uncovered. Like their noses. Hideous things. But their breasts and genital regions were always covered.

He remembered the humans demanding that the Outlanders cover those parts of themselves. Though they had seen no point at the time, they had acquiesced to the demands. Less of them died that way.

Even now, he still did not understand it. Why cover that which was necessary for reproduction? It simply made the process more complicated than it needed to be, and human reproduction was complicated enough! Not only was the act of intercourse _required_ for a child to be made, the motions of sex itself were beyond him. Why must such actions be taken for fertilization? They seemed entirely unnecessary. Unlike his kind, who would periodically exchange genetic information through the receptacles located low in their abdomen through a few seconds of attachment, human intercourse could last for several minutes.

What if they were interrupted? What if they had something more pressing to do than procreate?

And the _diseases_!

"**Does it just hang like that**?"

"**Apparently.**"

"**But it's not protected!**"

"**I know. The notion of having something so vital so vulnerable is beyond me. And apparently it is highly sensitive to pain.**"

"**Really**?"

"**Indeed. If any part is impacted in any sort of way, it can cause excruciating pain. Even physical damage.**"

"**Why isn't it protected then?**"

"**Humans are strange.**"

"**Very. Does Chelsea have this**?"

"**Chelsea is female. She has this sort.**" Michael turned the pages until he located pictures of female genitalia.

Humans were also very keen on keeping the functions of reproduction away from their young. When they had discovered that all young knew how to reproduce, they had been mildly shocked. According the Chelsea, human children were not taught about reproduction, as they did not have to know about it. When they matured, they were told about it.

Ridiculous. What was the point in hiding a natural function from them? Perhaps they were unable to reproduce at a young age, but that didn't mean they couldn't _know_ about it.

If a child lacked the height to open a door, you would not prevent them from knowing the door opened until they were tall enough.

"**It's gross.**"

"**Indeed.**"

"**Humans are gross.**"

Michael rumbled his assent as he turned back to the page he was on.

"**But even though she is ugly, Chelsea is nice. And Graham said, for a human, she is pretty.**"

Michael was quiet for a moment. He did not know Chelsea was attractive for a human. Then again, he did not know what was attractive for a human. He shook his head and exhaled, "**She might be ugly… but I don't mind.**"

Alexander's antennae twitched as he looked up at Michael, "**Do you like her**?"

Michael looked back at him, before putting his hand on Alexander's head, "**More than I should.**"

Alexander tilted his head, confused and grasped Michael's hand, moving it off his head, "**How can you like someone more than you should? If you like them, then you like them. How can that be bad**?"

"**Because she is a human. And she is not one of our kind.**"

"**Does liking her make you happy**?"

Michael glanced off to one side, his brows drawing together. Did liking Chelsea make him happy? Just a few weeks ago it had caused him great anguish. But now things were different. Now they were different. Now he was different.

"**Yes. It does.**"

"**Then that's all that matters.**"

Michael blinked, glancing down at Alexander again, before drawing his maxillae in a smile.

"**Yes. I suppose it is.**"

Suddenly Chelsea rocked backwards again, "Christ!"

Michael and Alexander both jumped, spinning to look at her, "**What**?"

"My report." She rummaged around on her desk until she picked up a slender USB. "I forgot to bring it to Meghan yesterday." She rubbed her face and climbed to her feet.

Michael's antennae swayed from left to right, "**Report**?"

"MNU wants progress and situation reports. In 'minute detail'." She made air quotations with her fingers. "Whatever. As long as they stay off my back, I can slap some words on a page for them. But I need to take this to Meghan."

"**Do you want me to take it**?" Alexander hopped over to her, all wide-eyed eagerness. "**I can take it.**"

"Nah, little man. I'll do it." Chelsea leant down to kiss his forehead. "You stay with Michael and…" She stared at the page Michael was on. "… Look at yeast infections."

She patted Michael's shoulder as she went past, shaking her head, before jogging to the research tent where Meghan spent most of her hours. Stepping around the edge, she poked her nose in like a cautious cat. Meghan had been slightly disapproving of Chelsea's new casual attitude toward her duties. But her dedication to her research made up for her new focus on her friendship with Michael.

Chelsea was unapologetic. She knew, now, how much Michael's friendship meant to her. Graham, Natalie and Callum were growing to be good friends, but she was at a point where she was invested in Michael. She wouldn't jeopardize that. Not even for the reason she had come to District 10 originally.

Amazing how one's priorities could shift.

"Hey, Meghan?"

The older woman lifted her head from the microscope she was peering into, blinking blearily. Rubbing her eyes, she shifted her glasses from her neck onto her face, turning towards Chelsea and closing a folder beside her. "Hello, Chelsea. What can I do for you?"

Chelsea produced the USB, "I finished the report. Yesterday. Sorry about that."

"Ah. Yes. I was wondering where it was. Don't worry about it though." She took the USB from Chelsea and went about labelling it and putting it in a box with several others. "You look about as frazzled as I feel. The research wearing on you?"

Chelsea lingered at Meghan's shoulder, "Something like that. What are you working on?"

Meghan moved aside and gestured at the microscope, allowing Chelsea to have a look. "It's… some sort of disease that I found among the Outlanders. Non-fatal, but it can be debilitating for a while. I'm checking its effect on humans and through that hoping to find a short-cut treatment until we can do a deeper study."

"What? With cross-diagnosis?"

"Pretty much."

"Will that work?" Chelsea's words were not sceptical, but rather highly interested.

Meghan shrugged one of her shoulders. "For all of the external differences, Outlander and human physiology isn't that dissimilar, at least where it matters. Thank Christ for small mercies."

"Would make sense considering that they can live on the same world comfortably."

"Yes, that was what I was thinking. Of course there are still minor differences, their DNA is shaped differently and there are a few genetic code dump sites that are different."

"And they can eat tyres."

Meghan smiled and leaned back, "Yes."

"Thinking about jabbing any of us with it for research purposes?"

Meghan laughed quietly, "No, nothing like that. Don't worry, you're all more valuable to me as doctors than lab rats."

"Well _that's_ good to know. If… uh, that changes, be sure to give me a heads up, okay? And if you need any help, well, let me know." Chelsea stepped back. "I'm not that great at pathology, though."

Meghan waved her hand, "Nono, I should be fine. But there is going to be a diagnosis session over dinner."

"I thought you said no science over the table?"

"Doctors with new discoveries, I have found, are like children at Christmas."

"Morbid," Chelsea nodded, glancing up. "But appropriate, I suppose. Alright. I'll bring Michael and Anna."

"The more the merrier."

Chelsea was about to step out, before she turned back in, "Hey, I'm going stir crazy from research. You mind if I make a couple of house-calls before dinner?"

"Of course. But before you go, I want to ask you something."

Chelsea, fearing the worst, smiled, "Hit me."

"What would you give the Outlanders if you could, Chelsea? What would you grant them, in light of what has happened to them and considering what they deserved in the first place?"

Thrown off, Chelsea lowered her brows, "I… Uh…"

Meghan smiled, "Think about it, would you? I'd be eager to hear your answer. You seem to care a great deal about them, and I know you like to think the best of humans. But… I just want to know what you think."

"Yeah. Sure. Okay." Chelsea eyed Meghan, before jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. "I'm gonna go make those house calls." She stepped back and out of the tent, before turning into the sun. "Well that was odd." She returned to her tent, shaking her head. Coming to a stop beside Michael, she nudges his foot with her boot. "Feel like going for a walk?"

He lifted his head from his book to look at his foot, then at her, "**Where**?"

"I promised one of the Outlanders I'd come to check on him." She paused, remembering that Alexander had told her to keep away from the one with the bandaged hand. But a promise was a promise, and she thought Michael might understand. "So I thought I'd go see him before dinner. Do you want to be my big, strong bodyguard?" Michael seemed to take a moment to process that, and she added sweetly, "From the scorpions and spiders, of course."

Michael gave an Outlander snort, which sounded remarkably like a horse's snort, "**Of course.**"

Chelsea stepped past him with a smile as she closed her laptop and scooped up her backpack. Checking what was in it, she shook it closed, satisfied with the contents. Michael was pulling the clips free of her tent walls after putting away her book when Alexander poked his head between his elder's legs.

"**Can I go play with Natalie**?"

Chelsea crouched down and grinned at him, "On one condition?"

Alexander stared up at her with wide eyes that said 'Anything for you'. Michael glanced over, twitching one of his antennae.

"When we leave, you have to jump on Callum and wake his lazy Scottish ass up. He needs to do some work. If he can't find anything, he can relieve Natalie of babysitting duty."

"**Okay**!"

Michael cast an arch look at Chelsea, "**You are mean to that man.**"

"It's all in good fun." She spread her hands, before looking contrite, "Should I stop?"

"**Did I say that**?"

Chelsea laughed as she headed towards the medical tent, "I'm going to go get some supplies."

Michael smiled, liking the sound of her laughter. Pushing himself to his feet, he closed the book and set it down on her desk. Removing the clips holding the flaps of her tent back, he tossed them on top of the book, before smoothing the canvas panels down. The two of them were functioning well together. He knew her routines, and he knew what he could do for her. In return, she knew what he liked and what she could do for him.

Strange. Michael patted the canvas in silence. Strange how things progressed. The way they interacted was… He shook his head and stepped back.

A moment later he was standing in the doorway of the medical supplies tent as she tossed a sachet of gauze into her pack. Shaking it, she zipped it up and tossed it onto her back.

"Forward, men!" she said, hand in the air. Michael just shook his head and followed behind her.

As they passed the MNU guard, who actually lifted their hands to wave, a shout rang through the camp, a cry that came from one of the tents that Alexander had disappeared to.

"Sonofabitch!"

Chelsea was quiet.

Michael watched her back as they walked, her hands stuffed in her pockets, her shoulders thrown back, her chin up. She seemed to know where she was going, which was a direction that was almost like they were heading towards his tent. But he knew they were not. She was visiting someone that lived near him.

Michael ran through the Outlanders that had their tents near his. They were generally the less sociable sort, keeping to themselves. Some were older and simply disliked the company of the youth. Some were gang members that could not organize themselves well enough to form any sort of threat.

One was Adam, the scarred Outlander that had harmed Chelsea. Of him, Michael had seen and scented nothing. Either he was avoiding Michael, or… well he had to be avoiding Michael.

Michael made a note to find out why.

"**Where are we going**?"

"To see a patient."

She was being evasive, now. Michael scowled at the back of her head.

"**Why don't you want me to know who you're seeing**?"

"Okay, when you guys get smart, you get absurdly smart. And it's not that I don't want you to know. It's that I'm… not entirely sure you won't be mad at me for it."

"**Why would I be mad**?"

"Alexander might have mentioned that you guys don't like the younglings going near him…" she hedged, hunching her shoulders.

Michael was silent, before he jerked to a stop, causing Chelsea to look back. "**How do you know him**?"

"I don't," she said quickly. "He helped me when I was coming to visit you. He has a bung hand and I fixed it up. Nothing really bad. I mean, for losing a finger he seemed to be healing pretty damn well."

"**What did he say to you**?"

"Nothing!" Chelsea's brows winged up as she turned. "He was quite hostile, but it was more like he just didn't want me near him. Or him near me. It was very strange." She glanced off to the side, before scowling at Michael. "Why aren't the kids allowed near him?"

Michael stared at Chelsea for a time, silently weighing his options. He could just tell her. Tell her that Gerome the Outlander was actually Wikus van der Merwe the human. Tell her that he was so brutal and hostile in his human days that no Outlander wanted to willingly associate with him. Tell her that the Outlander she was trying to help was actually a human who killed young Outlanders and caused them much suffering.

An MNU officer.

"**It's not my secret**."

Chelsea accepted that readily, nodding, "Alright. Is it his secret?"

Michael nodded, once, "**I doubt he'll tell you.**"

"Can't hurt to try. I don't want to be afraid of him if I don't have to be. Conversely, I don't want to be near him if I have a reason to be afraid."

"**I would never let him near you if he were a danger to you, Chelsea.**" Michael spoke the words before he thought of them.

Chelsea smiled at him, rewarding his thoughtlessness with trust and honesty, "I know."

Michael breathed deeply, regarding Chelsea in silence. After a moment contemplating this strange human and his words to her, Michael turned to point off to one side, "**His tent is that way.**"

"Is it? Damn. I knew I was lost."

The Outlander was sitting outside of his tent, sorting through bits of metal when Michael and Chelsea rounded the row of tents opposite his.

"Hey!"

His head came up, startled, as he stared at Chelsea. Obviously he had not expected her return. Then he saw Michael. The Outlander shot backwards like he had been kicked in the chest. Flinging out a hand, he cried, "**I don't want him anywhere near me**!" Then he vanished inside his tent, tossing the metal behind him.

Chelsea gaped, blinking, before turning on Michael, "What did you _do_?"

Michael twitched, stunned, before pointing at himself, "**What did **_**I**_** do**?"

"Why is he so scared of you?"

"**I didn't **_**do**_** anything.**"

Chelsea pursed her lips and then turned to look back at the tent, "So why is he _scared_?"

Michael's antennae twitched, before he said softly, "**The reason that one is scared of me has nothing to do with what I've **_**done**_."

His reward for such a cryptic comment was a flat expression, "Stay here." She stepped towards the tent and, when she heard Michael step after her, she whirled, pointing at the ground. "No! Stay _here_, Michael."

He watched her for a moment, and then slowly crouched down, bracing one hand on the ground. He blinked up at her with apparent obedience, cocking his head. She knew that it was anything but, and he was mocking her command, but she didn't have the spirit to be irritated when he was doing as she asked. Or, ordered. Sighing, she turned again and stepped inside the tent, letting the flap close behind her.

"Hey. He's not here. It's just me." She let her eyes adjust to the dark, and found a metal flower next to her cheek. Scowling, she tapped it with a finger, making it swing back and forth. Her eyes turned to the interior of the tent, searching for the Outlander.

He stood stiffly at the back, near the desk with the Christmas tree. His arms were folded around himself and he was hunched in, presenting his profile to Chelsea. As she stared, she realized that the gesture of defensiveness was wholly human. She had never seen an Outlander make it.

"I…" She stepped forward, lifting her hand. "I didn't know bringing him would upset you. I'm sorry."

"**You need to go.**" He waved his good hand at her, pointing one of his clawed fingers. "**Just go. Go. My hand is fine. Go.**"

She didn't move except to shuck her pack, letting it hang from one hand, "I made you a promise."

"**Promises to me don't matter. Not… just go!**"

"It doesn't matter who the promise is made to, or who by," snapped Chelsea with more heat than she intended. Gentling her voice, she continued, "The promise itself is what matters. I promised to come back, and I have."

"**Yes, yes you have. Now go.**"

Chelsea pointed at the chair beside her, "Sit."

The Outlander made a cry of anger and frustration, striding up to her, "**What is **_**wrong**_** with you?**"

"I'm stubborn, especially when it comes to my patients. So, now that you are my patient, and I am your doctor, do as you're told and sit."

"**You're a human. You're not my doctor.**"

Chelsea lifted her backpack and thumped it on the table, "We've had this discussion, mister. _Sit_."

Snorting, he sidled over, staring at the flap to his tent as if he expected Michael to burst through at any time. Then he finally sat, laying his wounded hand on the table.

"Well done," she murmured, taking his wrist and beginning to unwind the bandage. "So why are you so afraid of Michael, anyway?"

"**What has he told you about me**?" the Outlander gestured at the flap.

"Nothing, stubbornly obtuse man. … Thing. Whatever. You're all men. You have to be. Only men could be this goddamn egotistical." She drew the last of the bandage away and peeled back the gauze. "Oh, this is coming along nicely." She put the hand down and searched for some fresh gauze.

"**Men… men aren't egotistical**."

She glanced up at the defensiveness of that comment, brow arching, "Sure they are. All chest-beating, macho, must protect the woman, I Tarzan you Jane, swingin' in the trees mentality." She scrubbed the wound as gently as she could and applied a fresh gauze and bandage. "Michael's protective, I suppose. Which is nice, but oh my goodness, it's like being friends with a human male. Which is amazing since Outlanders have no gender differences."

She shrugged gently, "Don't mind him, anyway. He hasn't even told me what's the deal with you and the other Outlanders. He just gave me some cryptic comment on how it's your secret. So if you feel like you want to enlighten me, go ahead."

The Outlander was just staring at her, so Chelsea went ahead and bandaged his hand with a mumbled, "Or I suppose not."

Finally she was done, the rest of the check-up proceeding in silence. This time she left some gauze and bandages behind for him to take care of his own wound, since it didn't seem to need her care anymore. "Just toss 'em when you're done. I don't think I need to see you again." She smiled and patted his shoulder as he rubbed his wrist, watching her. "But feel free to drop by the hospital camp any time for a chat."

She smiled at him. Then she dipped her head when she realized he wasn't going to reciprocate.

"Take care."

Picking up her things, she stepped out of the tent. Her smile turned quietly amused when she saw Michael still crouched where she left him.

"Check up over," she proclaimed with false cheer, closing her eyes. Walking past him, she declared, "Time to go back."

"**A moment.**"

Stopping sharply, Chelsea turned and stared at Michael, who was gazing at the tent.

"Michael?"

"**I'm just going to talk to him.**"

"Michael…"

"**I'm not going to do anything to him, Chelsea. I'm just going to talk.**"

Chelsea folded her arms over her chest, before she nodded, "I know. I'm sorry. I get protective of my patients."

Michael reached out and put his hand on her head, smoothing it over her hair, "**I know. I understand. Wait here.**" He turned away from her and stepped into the tent, ducking down to bring his antennae safely beneath the metal frame. Instantly the Outlander inside tensed and jerked back, looking around frantically.

"**What do you want**?"

"**You should tell her.**"

The human mutation stared at the Outlander, his maxillae lax in a very human expression of shock. Then he leant forward, "**What the fuck did you just say**?"

Michael gestured over his shoulder, "**Chelsea. You should tell her the truth about you.**"

"**Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck should I tell anyone anything?**"

"**Because… because I thought you might like another human being to talk to, who knows about you. Chelsea will understand, and she won't tell MNU. It might… help you.**"

"**What the fuck do you care about me, Prawn?**"

Michael's shoulders slumped slightly and he shook his head, "**I am… trying to help you, Wikus. I am trying… so maybe you should try, too.**"

"**Why the fuck should I**?"

"**I'm tired of hating, Wikus. I'm tired of hating humans and carrying so much anger in me. Chelsea is… helping that anger turn into something else. Maybe she can help you, too. Aren't you tired of carrying so much anger? So much hate?**" Michael looked at Wikus, his head tilting. "**I thought being one of us would help you understand. But all it's done is make you crueller, and you're suffering because of it.**"

"**And, what, you want to be a good fucking Samaritan and alleviate that suffering? Bullshit.**"

"**I don't know what motivations **_**humans**_** have**," snapped Michael. "**But Outlanders sometimes do nice things just for the sake of doing them. That, alone, is all the reason some of us need. At first I thought all humans needed a reason for kindness, but after meeting Chelsea, I realize that's not true. She's a kind human, kind enough for someone like me, and kind enough for someone like you. All we have known in District 9 and District 10 is hate. Maybe it's time for a change.**" Michael held up a hand as Wikus started to speak. "**Think about it, Wikus. You're all alone in District 10. But you don't have to be.**"

Michael turned and stepped out of the tent, inhaling deeply of the warm afternoon air. His head turned to take in Chelsea, who was staring off into the distance absently, fingering the chain around her throat. Moving up to her carefully, he reached out and caught a stray lock of her hair. Human hair fascinated him. So soft, technically dead, hanging from their heads so uselessly. But it was a thing of vanity for many humans, so carefully tended to and styled. It came in so many different varieties, straight, curled, wavy. So many different colours.

Chelsea glanced over her shoulder, careful not to dislodge the lock he was holding, her mismatched eyes staring up at him.

He gave her an Outlander smile, "**Thank you for waiting.**"

"Well of course," she responded, smirking. "I'd get lost on the way back if I went alone."

Michael snorted and shoved her between the shoulder blades, making her stumble forward, laughing. Admittedly, Chelsea was the only human he felt comfortable enough to touch. The only human he felt comfortable enough to joke with. She teased him, and treated him as an equal. He wished, privately, that he had just trusted her from the start. Instead of spending weeks finding reasons to be angry at her, he could have enjoyed this strangely wonderful friendship.

Just before he vanished between the tents, Michael paused and looked over his shoulder. Wikus was standing at the open entrance of his tent, staring at them. His hands were clenched at his sides, and in one was clutched a metal tin flower.

The two of them shared a silent stare, before Michael turned and loped after Chelsea at her beckoning call.

Chelsea stabbed her fork into her broccoli and waved it at Graham like a trophy, "I don't care how goddamn expedient it would be. We need to do as little damage as possible to their exoskeletons when we go in!"

Graham folded his arms over his chest, "Their exoskeletons heal faster than human bones. It'll be fine."

"That doesn't mean you can crack them like a goddamn lobster to get into their abdominal cavity!"

"Well how _else_ are we going to get in there!"

Michael chewed on a bit of raw meat as he turned his head from the conversation between Chelsea and Graham to Natalie and another doctor, who were discussing Outlander physiology with Anna. Natalie's food was only absently picked at, a scowl between her brows as she scribbled on one of her drawings, nodding along with what Anna was saying. Callum had his nose buried in a surgical book and was making notes and highlighting things. Megan had her fork in her mouth as she flipped through notes she had made during the day.

In fact, everyone around the table was working in one way or another.

"**Conversation used to be pleasant.**"

Alexander stirred in his lap and Michael glanced down. Biting off a bit of meat, he removed it from his mouth and offered it to Alexander. The youngling bit into it eagerly and chewed happily, purring with delight. It was an act between parent and youngling, and Michael found that he enjoyed it. Alexander was not his child, nor he the child's father, but their need was filled by the other. He was content with that.

Another Outlander, a younger one who helped around the camp, snorted as he poked at mashed potatoes, "**Strange to see humans working so hard.**"

"**They seem to enjoy it,**" came another Outlander, his hands resting in his lap as he watched the two humans beside him bicker over the best treatment for some ailment or other.

Michael watched each of them with a small amount of satisfaction. The humans might not know it, but not all of the Outlanders that volunteered to help. Michael had situated himself as being the dominant figure, strongest and smartest of them. In another time, another place, he might have been their leader. But Michael had no desire to lead.

He just had a desire to keep the humans safe.

Keel Chelsea safe.

His eyes tracked back to her, sitting beside him as she acquiesced to Graham's practicality.

"**He's right, you know.**"

Graham's head flew up and he shook his head, eyes wide.

"What?" Chelsea slanted him a look.

"**Our external carapace means that you would have to crack it or remove sections to be able to perform surgery on what's beneath. So he's right. It is the best way**."

"He's _right_?" Chelsea propped her elbow up on the table and stared at Michael.

Graham was mouthing, 'No! NO!' but Michael didn't know why he should stop.

"**I understand you want to do as little harm to us as possible. But he is right.**"

Chelsea pursed her lips, before sighing, "I know. But it would just increase the recovery period and I don't want that."

Graham's brows arched up, "I get that, I do. But it's the only way."

"I get it." Chelsea stabbed her fork at him. "You're right. Moving on."

Graham's mouth gaped open as he stared at Michael. "She's fine with you and not me pointing out she's wrong. Bias! Bias!" He thumped the table.

"Someone pass me the salt, please." Natalie groped the air without looking up. "Preferably Graham, before Chelsea kills him."

"I might be short, but there is no way she could take me."

"You want to go, Tomb Thumb?" Chelsea leant forward. "You and me. Outside! Right now!"

"When I allowed science over the table, I did not also allow violence!" hammered Meghan from the end of the table. "Children! Behave!"

"He started it!" shouted Chelsea, pointing at Graham at the same time Graham pointed at her and declared, "She started it!"

"I'm ending it!"

Michael shook his head down at Alexander, "**Do not ever grow up to be a human.**"

"**I shall not**," he declared primly. "**They are far too silly.**"

As it had with most other nights, the encampment wound down to a quiet close. Chores were done, half the camp attended to hygiene needs and the MNU guards rotated out for the evening. Michael spent most of the afternoon with Graham and Anna, going over the practicality of the new surgery they were setting up. The argument over dinner, it seemed, was due to whether or not they should spend the money on bone saws, which would let them get through the carapace of the Outlanders.

Graham sent out the finalized list of requests with the architect who headed back to Johannesburg, promising to be back within a few days with builders. Michael, however, said that builders were not necessary. The Outlanders were qualified for all of those jobs. The architect, doubtful but willing to go out on a limb, said that he would bring the supplies and pay the wages to all of the Outlanders that helped.

Michael found himself pleased at that outcome and had gone to see Chelsea, loping eagerly to her tent. However, when he stepped inside he pulled up short when he saw her. She had obviously sat down on her bed, lain down on her side and promptly fallen asleep.

Twitching his head to the side, Michael approached Chelsea, crouching down beside her. He examined her for a moment, before his head dipped down to examine her boots. Deftly he undid the laces and loosened them, allowing him to wiggle them off her feet. Setting them to her side, he tucked her socks into each, shifting her feet up onto the bed. Stripping off her outer shirt, he moved the sheet and tucked it carefully around her. After a hesitation, he shifted it a bit more, and then patted her shoulder.

Chelsea remained fast asleep.

Michael rose and settled closer, crouching down beside the bed. His eyes shifted to examine her body, taking her in silently as his antennae tasted the air above her.

"**I am glad you did not leave, Chelsea.**"

The next morning, Michael stood in the open door of Chelsea's tent, staring at her empty bed. It was too early for her to be out and about, as he had deliberately arrived so he could catch her and tell her about what had passed the previous night. But not only was she up, she was clearly dressed.

For a moment Michael wondered, slightly panicked, where she had gone.

"Something wrong, Michael?" Natalie stood at the open door of her own tent, drying her hair. Behind her, Alexander was drawing happily on her bed.

"**Chelsea**?"

Natalie lowered her towel and pointed at the mess tent. "Breakfast."

"**She normally does not eat for a while yet.**" Whereas dinner seemed a group event, breakfast was whenever anyone could grab it.

Natalie widened her eyes, shrugging, "Apparently she had a hard time sleeping last night."

She had been peacefully asleep when he had left her. "**Why**?"

Natalie shrugged again. Michael watched her as he walked past, confused, before loping over to the mess tent. Turning around the poles that held it up, he saw Chelsea curled up on one of the benches with a bowl of cereal in front of her. Half-heartedly she poked at it with her spoon, like it would somehow give her answers she wanted or needed.

"Meghan asked me a question yesterday."

Michael tilted his head, realizing Chelsea knew he was there. He approached her slowly, coming to stand beside her as he waited for her to elaborate.

"She asked me… what I would give you guys – the Outlanders – if I could give you anything I wanted. Considering everything you've been through and considering what I think you deserve, what would I give you?" Chelsea picked up a spoonful of soggy rolled oats and bran, before letting it drop back into the bowl. "And… and I don't know. I mean there's the typical… running water. Electricity. Homes." She shrugged. "Equal rights. Education. A structures social welfare system. Government."

She sighed and pushed the bowl away finally, giving up, "But…" She stopped, on the verge of saying something, before soldiering on. "But I thought… I thought I should ask you." Her gaze slanted to him without her turning, "What do you _want_? Not what you _need_, or what you think you deserve. I know that. But what do you _want_?"

Michael considered Chelsea's words for a moment, processing exactly what she meant. Then the Outlander extended his hand to Chelsea, unfurling his fingers. Chelsea's hesitation was one of surprise, but after that she did not pause before she took it, looking up at him. Michael gave her an outlander smile and something uncertain shone in Chelsea's gaze.

That uncertainty gave Michael something else to think about, but not in that moment.

"**I'll show you."**

Turning, Michael led her out of the mess tent and through the others, towards the back of the doctor's encampment. He guided her down the trench that circled District 10 and eased her up the other side. Together, they approached the twenty foot high fence that surrounded District 10, capped and dressed with razor and barbed wire.

Michael released Chelsea's hand and stepped right up to the fence, his moving abdominal arms brushing against it. His other hand came up, fingers twining in the links as he stared out to the distant horizon, where the sun was breaching the edge of the world and bathing the place where the sun and the sky met a bright, brilliant gold. A richness of space that he would never know.

"**I want to take a step forward.**"

Chelsea's lips parted as she stared at Michael, then at the open African landscape. After a moment she stepped up to his side and took his hand, squeezing gently. Michael exhaled sharply and looked at her, his fathomless gaze filled with desperate longing. She didn't know what she had expected him to do or say when she had taken his hand, and a part of her had been both thrilled and terrified. But now, seeing his expression, she realized it didn't matter.

"I'll see what I can do."

_Anne_

**Tl;dnr is at the bottom in bold. For convenience, I have split this into several sections.**

My dearest readers and reviewers,

Never let it said that I don't cherish each and every one of you (yes, even you flamers. Here. Have a cookie). However, there has something that has been brought to my attention that I feel I can't ignore. And, yes, I am **blatantly** exploiting you, right now, but don't worry. This will be put on every single one of my fanfictions, so you're not the only ones.

As some of you may be aware, there have been a mass deletion of fanfictions and account suspensions and even bannings on this site. People are losing their stories and their accounts. Talented writers. Beginner writers. Hobbyists. This is due to their fictions being reported for infractions on this site's rules, all because of an elitist stranglehold and monopoly of membership and participation on this site.

'**Critics United'/ 'Literate Union'**

_Aka, an attempt to validate vicious cyberbullying_

Now, let it never be said that I think that the rules should be violated, or that violations should be allowed. They are there for many reasons, most primarily legal. has been careful to ensure that we are all able to post fanfictions on this site, an act in and of itself that can be considered legally questionable. After all, we are appropriating intellectual property that belongs to those that are not ourselves, aren't we (although let me remark on the hilarity of having potentially plagiarised images on our plagiarised stories). Those who run have done incredible work, voluntarily, and are amazing people for doing so. However, whether or not these fictions violate the rules, or the validation of the removal of their works is not what I am bringing to light here. You are able to formulate your own opinion on the matter, and you are responsible for your own works.

As well as your own _behaviour_.

And it is behaviour that I wish to address here. The horrendous and reprehensible behaviour of members of this site who have joined together in a hateful mission of cyber bullying. Because that is exactly what this is; the most deplorable example of victimisation and antagonism I have **ever seen on this site.** These people specifically target stories that violate this site, and persistently hover over it like vultures, pecking away at the victim until they get what they want; which is ultimately a deletion of all stories that violate the rules of this site.

These are not people who report stories and move on. They have made it their mission to see deleted each and every single fiction that exhibits an infraction of the rules, however major or minor, and in the process humiliate and persecute the authors who – as I have seen many of them state – are apparently deserving of the ridicule that this group inflicts upon them.

And they have a forum dedicated to this end. On this site. There, they collate fictions that they have seen deleted, either directly or indirectly, in a hall of shame. They also bring forth fictions for judgement by their fellows for the sole purpose of deciding whether or not it violates the rules and, if it can be proven that it does violate the rules, they proceed to head to the fiction en-mass to spam the story's review feed and report the fiction if they don't comply to the site's rules.

They collate deleted fictions in a 'hall of shame' topic that allows them to display all the fictions that have been deleted because of their actions. They congratulate each other on a job well done. They laugh at poor writing, drag people through the dirt, and for what? So that they can feel good about their 'hard work'? So that they can feel as though they have some great power holding life or death over these fictions, passing judgement on these authors?

Now, for their credit, they seem to think they are doing the right thing. They ensure to discuss questionable fics, ensure that they are breaking rules, and then go and report. And some of them are courteous and polite about their warnings. On the forum, one person this:

"_1. None of the people on this site are god, but the admins on this site__do__decide what stories get to be on here based on the guidelines__you__agreed to._

_2. The people here don't report stories because they're bad, we report stories because they break guidelines. (This includes horrific spelling, grammar, and chat-speak.) Given, if it is a bad story, we might tear it to pieces with our criticism, but we don't report it."_

This statement is of merit, and would be acceptable, if it were not for the fact that, four posts down, the _same_ _person_ posted this:

"_Reviewed and reported. Really, do all stupid fangirls really think they're going to get away with absolute crap like this? Just as well, why must all of them put it in eye-blinding bold and italics?"_

The hypocrisy of them trying to claim some noble cause while passing these personal judgements sickens me. After all, I don't know about you, but I am a fangirl of many things, and saying such disparagingly judgemental terms makes me feel like this person puts themselves at a level far above my own. I don't want to seem arrogant or egotistical when I say this, but I would dearly love to see this person use the term 'fangirl' as an insult to my face.

One group of people call themselves 'Critics United', but I can safely say that their self-titling is pathetic. These people are not critics. They are bullies hiding under a guise of justification because they are only targeting those that break the rules of this site. A cause like that does not explain or validate their actions in any way. It is not less bullying, it is not less a ridiculous display of egotism, and it is no less an act of _victimisation_. This is not critiquing, this isn't even constructive criticism, as they like to claim it. I am a critic. I am a _literature student_. And I would never, _ever_ equate these people with holding the role of critique, unless they are referring to the meaning of being negative naysayers.

Moreover, you do not justify your actions as constructive criticism when you force it down someone's throat. Not everyone can handle constructive criticism, and you don't get to stamp your words and self-stylise in order to validate such criticism when someone doesn't want it. **That is still bullying.**

The fact that these people try to veil their victimisation behind courteous and polite words doesn't make it any less bullying. Doesn't make it any less than a vindictive desire to hold some elitist hold over writing over this site, and proclaim themselves judge, jury and executioner of people's fictions. They have been screenshotted in reviews saying things like 'piece of **' 'toxic crap' and directly insulting people's writing skill. I don't know about you, but this kind of juvenile behaviour cannot be considered 'critiquing'. _That_ behaviour is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How dare they hold some holier-than-thou attitude over other writers and maintain some sort of integrity because they are 'enforcing the rules'.

As I have said, _I do not condone rule breaking in any way, shape or form_ on this site, and I have been careful to ensure that my own fics do not break the rules. But that does not mean that I feel I have a right to hunt down all the fics that do break the rules. It is the responsibility of each and every member to ensure their works don't break the rules, and to report those that flaunt the rules.

_And then move on_.

Making a group for the sole purpose of some self-imposed duty of policing disgusts me. The idea that someone has read my fictions, nodded their head and said 'You pass', decreeing that I would be allowed to post not merely because I have followed the rules, but because _they gave me permission to_ disgusts me. These people have taken a power that belongs to everyone, and decided to turn it toward their own means, believing that they are safe and okay because they are merely upholding the rules of the site. When, in actuality, that is not at all merely what they are doing.

And what is worse, _is condoning their behaviour_. I do not believe that the administrators of this site are reading the stories they have deleted, validating that they violate the rules, and then deleted them based on their own judgement. Instead, they are going after people based on the report count listed by their name, a count that this group, Critics United, is largely responsible for.

For those members of this group who feel that they have some form of duty to patrol this site for this purpose, but are careful and courteous in their reviews and warnings, I'm sorry. But you willingly associate with this ego-trip and I am afraid you are not completely free of blame.

For those of you that use this as an excuse to flaunt your superiority over others, and then claim no responsibility for your actions because you are 'upholding the rules'… There is no excuse, justification, or validation for your behaviour. None.

Nor is there an excuse, justification, or validation for 's condoning of it.

A worse group, however, is the Literate Union, which is almost identical to Critics United except for the fact that they are fully aware of the fact that all they do is flame, degrade and viciously bully those who they believe is worthy. They are everything I have stated above, without an attempt to justify their cruel behaviour. These people are slightly more self-aware, but even less mature in their actions. They have a forum dedicated to asking one another to specifically go and _flame_ people and their stories, and I am at a loss as to the reason why.

Critics United have embarked on a witch hunt because they want to destroy the witches and purge their town.

Literate Union just wants to watch people squeal and burn in the flames.

This is cyber bullying, without any explanation or excuse. 'Upholding the rules' is not something I will accept. It does not require this level of hunt-and-kill execution that these people are exhibiting. It isn't their right to take it upon themselves to tear apart each author, post it on their hateful forum and giggle behind their hands with one another.

I do not want to be associated with a site that condones this blatant display of bullying.

**The rating system/the bannings and deletions**

_AKA I think you missed one_

As many readers may be aware, this time of year slows down for me because of my university. I have also been unable to post new chapters on my fanfiction because I am writing a thesis, and it is draining most of my energy. I have to work toward a Ph.D scholarship, which can range anywhere from thirty-five to sixty-five thousand taxpayer dollars, which makes me want to make sure I am deserving of it. However, I was in the process of re-writing several of my fics, and prepared to post them en-mass when I next had time.

However, I would like to draw attention to this section of the front page;

June 4th 2012 - Notices:

Please note we would like to clarify the content policy we have in place since 2002. follows the Fiction Rating system ranging from Fiction K to Fiction M. Although Fiction Ratings goes up to Fiction MA, since 2002 has not allowed Fiction MA rated content which can contain adult/explicit content on the site. only accepts content in the Fiction K through Fiction M range. Fiction M can contain adult language, themes and suggestions. Detailed descriptions of physical interaction of sexual or violent nature is considered Fiction MA and has not been allowed on the site since 2002.

I would state here, briefly, that the idea of not having a mature rating for mature readers has always perplexed me. I feel making them unavailable to unregistered readers, and having a function in a profile that allows for a 'I am over the age of 18' box to be checked would cover the ethical issues in regards to this. Ethical considerations on the internet require only a disclosure of age and consent of content that is about to be read. Once a person checks a 'I am over the age of 18' box, the people who are exposing them to the information are no longer liable for any legal action. They have fulfilled their requirement of responsibility. As such, not having a mature section for this site has never really made sense for me. However, that is not what I wish to address here.

As such, I regret to inform my readers that, though the content of my stories are not exclusively of this nature, many of my fictions feature such violence in their content, from detailed description of sexual interaction (_Gestalt_, and the intent in _Paradise Lost_), and violence (pretty much every single one of my fictions). What you would consider 'detailed' and rule violating, however, is subject to opinion, but from what I have addressed, opinion is enough to get your story deleted, or your account suspended or banned. I had thought that if the story had the content, but did not feature it as the main issue – for example a romance that went into sex, but did not have sex in every chapter – would be allowed as a mature example of professional writing.

I was, apparently, wrong.

I am fortunate that all of my stories exist on my laptop and not exclusively on , but it would devastate me to lose the wonderful reviews I have gotten from you, the painstaking time that you have all put in to telling me your thoughts and feelings on my work, helping me improve, giving me invaluable feedback and encouragement. I have been dragged from the depths of writer's block and depression because of the things you have said, and I cannot even imagine how some people feel with their stories deleted, not only losing their work, but the amazing reviews that people have left for them, to show them that their work is appreciated.

And let me say that the idea that is deleting fanfictions that depict graphic sex or violence, but are allowing people like Critics United and

I also do not feel like waiting for the Critics United group to turn their attention to the Mass Effect category and rifle through it, finding my fictions and passing their judgements on my work. It isn't their right.

**The result**

**As such – and I know many of you are going to hate me for this, and I'm sorry –henceforth, in protest of the actions being taken on this site;**

**I will no longer be updating any of my fanfictions.**

**I will not be posting the rewrites of **_**Paradise Lost**_**, **_**In the Shadow of Gods**_** and **_**A Cage of Butterflies**_** that I have been working on.**

**I will not be posting new stories or one-shots on this site, nor any planned sequels.**

**Whether or not I repost my fictions elsewhere, and whether or not I post new fictions elsewhere has yet to be decided.**

**This is me being responsible for my own actions, my own opinions, and my own image, in that I **_**will not be associated in any way with these people, nor will I allow their actions to go unaddressed**_**.**

**This is not a message to . This is a message to you, my readers, my reviewers. Critics United are a group of vicious cyberbullies who defend their actions with the guise of 'upholding the rules'. Literate Union are simply cyberbullies who do not even try to defend their actions, and their actions are blatantly antagonistic and cruel. This does not make it any less bullying. It does not make their actions any less cruel. While I advocate that the rules be upheld, and I know that some fictions are in blatant violation of them, this group should not be allowed to continue conducting themselves as they have. These people purposefully seek out and victimising members of this site, and this is not behaviour I want to endorse, condone, forgive, be associated with, or turn a blind eye to.**

**I am not sure if I will post my works elsewhere for people to read. If I do, I will let you know.**

**I have created a tumblr for mass communication in case my account on is deleted. annewhynnfanfiction(youknoetherest) Please add me. I will keep everyone updated.**

This needs to stop.

I love you all sincerely and dearly. You are my valued readers and reviewers, and you make me so happy whenever I hear anything from any of you. But this is unacceptable.

I am sorry.

For the forseable future, this is me signing out.

Love

Anne

P.S – Feel free to send me reviews filled with rage and hate, condemnations for my actions and… well. Anger. I have marshmellows ready.


End file.
